


Harbinger

by DaniLastName



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Torture, Body Worship, Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Use, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Imprisonment, Memory Alteration, Mentions of Rape, Murder, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Psychological Drama, Raiders, Revolution, Shameless Smut, Suicidal Thoughts, Synths, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, railroad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-18 07:26:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 43,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8153870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaniLastName/pseuds/DaniLastName
Summary: Captured by a raider crew, Lorna is held prisoner as the Commonwealth continues without her. Upon escaping, she is accused of being a synth in a wasteland plagued by increasing hostility as a new generation of synths emerge and the new leader, Mother, wants her destroyed. Mainly focused on the fragility of the human experience and how things could have gone.





	1. Ford

**Author's Note:**

> After the difficulty of my first Hancock drabble, which I orphaned, I'm trying again! I can never write endings so. Who knows?  
> Expect torture and gore.

The sun was breaking the horizon far off, over the twisted bodies of monoliths and the barren land gripping them. She counted twenty-three days since she'd seen the sun. The light snapped at her eyes as rope burned her fingers. Her hands were pressed to her throat as she was hoisted upwards, her noose tightening as her bare feet left the ground. She didn't thrash; hanging from the metal beams crossing the gas station's overhang was likely her only hope left. She hadn't slept well in weeks and her stomach had stopped hurting. They'd taken her clothing and left her in her undergarments, burning her Vault suit alongside any food or articles she'd carried from the Vault. Her lips broke into lines of blood and her fingernails were bending and snapping like twigs. So, she couldn't fight - she waited, breathing slowly with the minute space her hands could afford. Behind her, Ford tied off the rope and searched the ground, kicking rocks and dirt against the metal structure. She heard him shifting rubble before finding what he needed.  
She felt a pressure beneath her feet as Ford jammed a wet dowel into the ground beneath her. She had to put her weight on the inch of footing she was afforded, careful not to bend the ancient wood. The Raider Boss chuckled and laid a hand flat against her thigh. She could only see him as a sliver, her chin raised to let her breathe. The world moved as he pushed against her and her footing was lost. She swung lightly, nearly losing her grip on the rope at her throat. She choked, outstretching her toes in search of the dowel as she swung away and back. "Well, good fuckin' mornin'," Ford shouted at her. "Now, I know I said you'd never see daylight again. And I'm a big enough man to admit when I'm wrong. So, here you go - whaddya think?" His voice was edged by a sadistic grin as he watched her struggle to find purchase on the pole beneath her, but he only pushed her again, harder.  
Lorna heard the voices of Shell and Turbo, Ford's woman and "Number One," behind her as they exited the gas station. They were planning a drop on a group of unguarded 'scavvers' up the street in her old neighborhood. She heard Turbo clap his hands and soon saw his streak of blond hair beneath her as he joined Ford. "For me, Boss? Aw, you shouldn't have!" Turbo laughed, voice hoarse with phlegm and disease, burnt out by chems and booze. There was a clicking sound followed by the spray of gasoline and Lorna began to kick. She normally refused to speak, let alone scream, as she had learned they were deaf to it. "Hey, hey, baby, you gotta calm down or Turbo can't promise you'll get to keep your pretty legs," Turbo growled. His leathery hand, sticky with blood and dirt, gripped her thigh and forcefully moved her to stand on the dowel again. It only meant he couldn't miss.  
Like biting fireworks, her mind dissolved as burning pain exploded from her left calf. He had turned on his Shishkebab, Turbo's favorite form of torture. He dragged the flaming point down her flesh, enough to draw her blood and sear it shut again, degreed burns forming in the place of wounds. The flames danced across her skin, her outermost layer of flesh peeling back, exposing a shrinking dermis fusing with the sparce fat in her calf. Lorna hissed, tears of overwhelming defeat clouding her eyes. She thrashed once, her spine straightening while she shook any stray tears away. They wouldn't see her fucking crying. Though her nerves emulsified into her blood, she had known pain from the parasites that held her captive. Ford had sun-dried a Brahmin tail to whip her back, leaving a field of rips in her flesh. Shell preferred blunt assaults on Lorna's limbs. The woman's initials were carved into Lorna's hip by a shard of steel. Half of her left ring finger hung from Ford's necklace of bloodied human parts - a woman's toe, a man's tongue and ear, and one of Lorna's molars lost after the forced feeding of dirt hiding pebbles of asphalt.  
Turbo pulled his weapon back, inhaling the air. "Smells tasty," he grinned, turning the gas off. The weapon lost its flames, but the metal still glowed white. Lorna could feel the heat of the blade hover over her abdomen, down her legs, over the searing flesh filling the air with the scent of meat. "Let's see how-" He was interrupted by Lorna's sudden cry as he pressed the blade flat to her inner thigh, down her leg to her knee. He crackled over her noise. She thought heard snapping and she forced her head back against the noose as her voice escaped her. She could feel something bubbling inside her, just beneath the blade. She could hear laughter. Her limbs shook, body exhausted and breaking. She could feel the tremors that always led to disassociation - a blackness over her eyes and cloud in her head that let her escape.

They were gone when she was able to focus again. Her mind had left her, letting her hang from the rope like a beaten cadaver. She hadn't been left alone by the Raiders since her capture. They had probably figured she would die there or wait for their return. Lorna put her weight on her big toe as she turned herself on the dowel to survey the inside of the gas station. It was barren.  
Ford's Power Armor was absent from the garage and the foodstuffs that had littered the gas station's interior were gone. Instead, a pile of mines sat scattered around the dowel holding her up, blinking against the shadows cast by midmorning. Carefully, Lorna slipped a hand from her noose, peeling the chapped skin of her hand from her throat, and reached to grip the taut rope above her. As she steadied, she slipped her other hand from her neck, committing to her plan as she abandoned her throat to the noose. She pressed harder on the dowel, pushing herself up inches, just enough to pull herself up with her good arm as she loosened the noose with the other. She pushed the knot upwards and tore it from her head, pulling clumps of matted hair from her scalp.  
Free from the threat of hanging, she was left holding the rope and balancing on the dowel as she searched for any outlying mines. She found a safe opening furthest from the entrance to the store, and slowly crouched. She bound from the pole, weight snapping the dowel as she flung herself forward. She met the ground hard, her cheek and hand grating against the hard dirt. The fresh burns on her legs screeched in her brain, rubbing dirt and rock as she skidded. She lay on the ground for moments before she realized her captors were no more than a mile in any direction, in search of the defenseless settlers.  
She rose carefully, wounds on her legs and back ripping fresh, blood running warm trails down her numb, freezing skin. A single mine lay away from the rest, and she crept close to it, quickly pressing her finger into its center, disarming it. Lorna only let herself glance over the ruins of Concord in the distance before she forced herself to run. She sprinted from the gas station, bare feet pounding the jagged Earth beneath her, the fat mine in her good hand. She kept east after passing Concord and ran its outskirts. Her heart beat hard against her aching ribcage; her lungs burned in the irradiated air, dirt and dust coating her throat. She felt a burning sensation in her feet as she rubbed away the frail skin that hadn't touched the Wastes. She bound down a hill, lost her footing against a jutting rock that cracked against her toes, and fell sideways against the ground. She glanced up to see where she had stopped - Bedford Station still housing trains with pallets of granite and limestone.  
A rustle meters down the tracks froze her, and Lorna flattened herself against the bottom of the tower overlooking the station. Someone stumbled out from a train, their rags hanging from boney, gnarled flesh. They growled and screeched, searching for her, inhuman as they twitched and crawled the ground. Lorna's breath hitched and she watched it come close, withered fingers scraping at the dirt, before it turned and sprinted towards another train, legs stuttering beneath it. She pressed flat against the building as she inched her way around it to the staircase leading to the top. The monster shambled towards the far off building, letting Lorna limp up the stairs. At the top, she nearly broke down at the site of a mattress and boxed food. In a drawer, she found Stimpaks and Med-X, and, after biting down a scrap of cloth, broke through the hard congealed flesh covering her burns and injected the medicine quickly. She gnawed at the cloth, pushing the pain into the back of her mind, willing herself to fix the marred flesh before it became infected. Stimpaks and Med-X wouldn't heal the burns, wouldn't keep them from scarring her, but they kept her legs and back numb enough to let her sleep. She dropped the single mine she'd taken just outside the door and gingerly laid herself onto the stained bed.  
The monsters in the train station left her alone through the night and Lorna awoke at dusk. The chems had worn off and she was left aching, sunken into the blackened mattress. The sharp edge of thirst panged the back of her throat and hunger clawed inside her. She gorged herself on dry Salisbury Steak and Fancy Lad's Snack Cakes until she heaved into a fetid bucket in the corner. She drowned herself in dirty water, attempting to ignore the bits of dirt and fuzzy warmth of radiation on her tongue. When she was sated, Lorna lay flat on the top step of the stairwell, searching the horizon for familiar shapes, for somewhere to go.  
A note from someone long gone, addressed to a person whose name consisted of letters and numbers, directed her to a small cache beneath the floorboards, holding a small pistol and ammo along with a single set of ragged clothing. She stepped into the clothes carefully, the loose fabrics rough against her injuries. It was nighttime and she stared at the sky she had never seen so full as it illuminated the land in dim starlight. She stepped carefully down the staircase and sprinted south, ignoring the horrific screeches of the inhuman behind her.

She had seen the bomb hit Boston. Just as the Vault elevator shuddered beneath them, the city had lit up in nuclear devastation. The blast wave had missed them by a moment. When she'd finally gotten out, she hadn't expected to see the jagged skyline standing.  
Her fingernails had clawed at rusted latches, scraping at worn edges and melted steel. She'd torn at the suitcase, prying at its locks, but the bombs or time had worn them shut. It was Nate's ridiculous "Bug-out Bag," left buried in the woods behind their home. He had spent a month's income on Stimpaks, three Hazmat Suits, and a loaded pistol in preparation for their time in the Vault, in case it failed. They hadn't had time to grab it, though she wished she could thank him for it.  
As she wrestled with the locks, she was unaware of dirt pressing behind her. Footsteps came close and Lorna froze as metal contacted the back of her head. She fell forward from the blunt force, and whipped around to face the attacker. It was a man covered in dirt, eyes bloodshot and wide, a shotgun in his shaking arms. He grinned wide, broken teeth glistening. Lorna moved to get up but the man immediately grabbed at her feet. She kicked and he held tight, laughing down at her. Without speaking, he raised his weapon and brought the stock down on her head.  
It had taken several days for her captors to introduce themselves. Ford, Shell, and Turbo, the man who'd ambushed her. They'd tied her to a chair and left raw meat on a table in front of her. She was left there until the meat was gone, thick fat and uncooked muscle chewed through over the course of another two days. She hadn't understood at first. She figured they were just ignorant, living in a world with no education or law. She had had hope they would talk to her. They only spoke in threats.

The Wastes had seemed barren between her and downtown Boston. She'd figured the tall buildings and steel walls would attract survivors, if there were any. Trees were left as aggressive pikes pointed to the empty, black sky. Loud buzzing filled the air, mutated bugs singing like saw blades. It had taken most of the night to reach Boston as Lorna stepped silently onward. She had seen dogs, thin and torn, ravaging cow-like abominations; two-headed stags reared at her and took off, hooves like flint as they scraped the dead Earth. She had avoided them, crouching and even crawling past to avoid any obstacle she could foresee.  
Finally, she could hear human voices. Glancing at her map, she found herself at the edges of Lexington. It lay beneath a groaning highway, cast in cool shadows hiding whatever humans spoke nearby. She heard laughter, coarse and deep. Lorna slid against the base of the highway, pressing her cheek to the concrete as she listened. She heard a muffled cry, a woman's high-pitched voice through fabric. She slid further, stepping over the rocks and trash at her feet; down the street, near Lexington proper, she made out a small camp with a fence lining its perimeter. A man with a gas mask covering his face guarded the place. He shouldered a rifle, likely holding a single shot.  
Behind him, a group sat in chairs, smoked, and shoved at each other. Their armor was spiked or worn and their weapons were dulled with rust. Just another gang.  
Lorna felt her eyes stinging. Her throat was narrowing. She had hoped someone would have been there. The tall buildings, comfortable position - she had believed, truly hoped. But they were just more of the same. Raiders and killers. There was no way past the group without being noticed. She saw herself sitting against the concrete block for hours until nightfall, when she could slip away. The sun was positioned straight above her. It would be hours before dusk.  
She shut her eyes for a moment and searched for Nate's face in her fading memory. His voice, low and clear, whispering. She could see his lips moving. She saw Shaun in his arms, squirming and waiting for his mother's embrace. Soft cheeks rubbing against Nate's favorite flannel, too rough for the fragile skin. He was turning red where the fabric touched him. She reached for them, but couldn't touch. Shaun was crying. Nate was shouting. His lips were still moving. But she couldn't hear. Shaun's cries grew louder, Nate's shouting was coming closer.  
Her eyes shot open - someone was screaming. The woman. Lorna glanced around the corner again and saw the woman, pushed onto her knees at the fence. Her head was covered by a white cloth stained red at the eyes. The woman wrestled against the rope tying her wrists, the cloth taut over her gaping mouth as she screeched. The raider behind her, shirtless and grinning, pressed his boot to her back and bent her forward, pressing her face to the dirt. She was yowling like an animal, the deep circles of blood spreading, dripping down like tears from crimson voids. The raider stared down, hovering over the bent woman like she was a cat caught in firecrackers. He bared his teeth as he started pressing down, grinning and wrinkling his brow in effort. His boot came down onto her upper back and Lorna saw the unnatural twist of the woman's neck as he flattened it against the ground. The circles were growing still, watching Lorna stare. His foot came up again - he crushed the clothed face beneath him in a single stomp, the skull splintering into viscous grey and red staining the mask.  
Lorna shoved her pistol into the back of her jeans and swung around the corner, arms raised. The guard drew quickly, focusing on her as he shouted to the man scraping gore from his boot onto the curb. The man squinted to see her and began laughing. Before the guard could shoot, she shouted, "I need a new crew!" The man who'd executed the woman was still laughing as she came closer. The guard shook his head and shouldered his rifle. Lorna watched them close, tensing as she prepared to draw on them in case their tone changed.  
The guard motioned to the other man, who nodded and shouted behind him to the small collection of tents, "'Ey Marco, we got a newbie!"


	2. Uno

His hair was cerulean and moved like ocean current when the autumn wind blew. He set his jaw when he thought, scanning over the ruins laid out like decayed fingers across the Wastes. He kept two combat knives at his hip - "one to throw and one to finish" - and a submachine gun he'd named Laurie in his belt. Blue eyes darting, lip twitching, he could call a vic from a mile and scouted them through the maze of Lexington for hours before pulling the trigger. A cat sniping mice.  
They got Head Spot, the tallest point in the perimeter in which he and Lorna slept and planned. Uno was stronger, colder than any man she'd met before or after the bombs. He stunk of sun-baked meat and aerosol, huffing Jet on the hour to glaze his eyes and lift his mood. He never graced her with so much as a smile, but she needed it that way. Despite his brutality and rage, he had taught her to live in the new world. He wasn't a friend or even a man, in her eyes - he was dominance incarnate.  
But he would die. Just like Nate, like Shaun, like the bloodied, torn bodies lying in the street of her old home, Uno would not live forever.  
She'd killed his old Boss, Marco. The old leader had let her join his crew after jumping her in. A small group had circled her and beat her down until their knuckles bled. Her nose had broken and back was left ripped apart when her lash wounds were torn open. She kept breathing through the blood and dirt. In the night, she found Marco's bed and pinned him to it with a knife in the throat. She'd taken eight in their sleep before finding Uno, who'd knocked himself out with Vodka and Psycho. He was the first to be tied to a burst streetlight in the center of Lexington. Rina had been taking Calmex and didn't struggle. Tantric was high on Daddy-O and thought she was someone else, a woman he'd trusted from a different time.  
She had pistol whipped Uno, smacked his ears, tore at the shreds of fingernails he had left - he refused to give in. It was only when Tantric and Rina had silenced themselves in defeat, admitting Lorna as their new Boss, that she had caught the blink of confusion in the Raider's eyes. She kept him tied to the streetlight for six days more before he finally called her Boss. His lips had cracked and wrists had bloodied against the strain of the heavy zip-ties. His hair lay flat against his sweat-soaked scalp in the scorching heat of midday. He had shaken his head and ground his teeth while she'd stood over him, arms crossed as she waited. His face was twitching and expressed a defeated rage that coated his words like acid. "Yeah, Boss. I give."  
It was then that Lorna found she could finally build a life, something to drag her further into the endless nights of empty will. She encouraged her crew to reconnect with anyone they still knew to boost their numbers. At a pathetic four heads, they didn't stand a chance against any armed groups holed up to the South Uno had warned her of.  
Uno was beside her now, their legs dangling over the edge of the Head Spot, an old apartment building Lorna vaguely remembered as luxurious. He had to pull the bandana covering his face down to hold a cigarette between his lips. They were silent as the sun set, the scraping of matches taking place of their words. He bent forward, arching as he cracked his spine, and tapped his teeth together in thought. "We been here near two weeks. Unless this is where we're staying, and I fuckin' hope it ain't, we need a plan. A crew needs loot and violence or they go soft." Lorna turned her head to him, watching him take a long drag. "I've seen it. They get lazy and start wonderin' if it's all worth it. The newest ones always try to run, but the vets try to take control." She knew he meant himself. Uno had a raiding history longer than he felt telling, though she knew his first hit was as a teenager. His arms were a canvas for scarification and wounds long forgotten. A scar leading from his shoulder to his elbow, once an even, long gash, had been from the nails of a woman whose child he'd taken. She cried and screamed, but the child was dead; Uno said she had spit in his face and never moved again.  
She wondered if he'd ever been a soldier, but she knew he'd never be led by a hand that couldn't kill him. She'd seen him watching her when they swept the perimeter, weighing his gun and checking that Rina and Tan were nearly a block away. He'd watched her take careful steps in the dark, searching for mines or tripwires her second-in-command could have rigged. But she appreciated him nonetheless. She couldn't judge a man who didn't trust - after two months in the Commonwealth, she hadn't met a face that hadn't tried to kill her. She had to be just as ruthless, prepared; she had to build strength with Buffout and kept her men calm with Jet scored from passing scavengers. She stood at the precipice of death each moment she moved - any error and the crew would move on while she rotted in a Lexington car park.  
Uno stood, the last drag of his cigarette burning bright the stars above him. "We oughta hit a farm. Any animals they got'll get us through another week. This crew needs blood. Don't make it be yours."

The next day, Lorna had Rina prepping their firearms while Tantric and Uno scouted the location of their first hit. It was to the northwest, a farm Uno had pointed out on her Pip-Boy, likely held by settlers with living crops and animals. Lorna was smoking her third consecutive cigarette, leaning back against a storefront as Rina wiped dried gore from Tantric's machete. She'd wondered if the two subordinates had something going, but she never looked too long. Whether they fucked or fought, they were her crew more than anything. She kept conversations short and made a point to let Uno handle the morale; she had earned a mutual disinterest from the two.  
"Hey, Boss, I know you ain't much for talk, but I gotta say I feel a lot safer with you and Uno around. I got plans, you know? I'm hopin' to head to Philadelphia soon. I hear they got a hold where this big crew got a legion of slaves doin' work with metal and shit," Rina rambled, wiping a soiled shirt from the ruins across her own combat knife, grimacing at the fetid coagulation. The Raiders hadn't had their weapons since they'd joined Lorna. She'd stripped them of any armor, firearms, or blades when she'd tied them to the streetlights, and hadn't trusted them not to turn on her. The blood soaking every blade was that of Lorna's captors, the straggling crew that had taken her from Sanctuary.  
"Sounds nice," Lorna commented. "I'm heading south soon."  
Rina spoke lowly, as though to herself, "So this ain't forever. You gonna stay with Uno? He's a fuckin' beast. Saw him decap a kid once, man. He's gonna run a crew one day. Hope you get to see it." Lorna grimaced, aggravated by her subordinates' consistent second-guessing.

The farm was built around the base of a tall power line. Night was falling and Lorna's crew crouched behind rocks as they watched the family working. There was a man and woman as well as a young girl Lorna assumed was their daughter. They waited until the women had gone inside before showing themselves. They wore burlap masks and shouldered their weapons to work the farmer's fear. Lorna and Uno took the lead, stepping into the light cast onto the Wastes by the farm's candles. The farmer jolted backwards when he saw them, nearly tripping as he moved.  
The farmer's face turned red and he began yelling at them. "Get outta here! Your boss said you'd keep back if I fed ya'll and I'm -" Uno raised his rifle to silence him. They were silent to scare the man. The farmer waited only moments before running for his home. Uno aimed casually and shot the man's leg, downing him at his front door. The man fell, shouting. He hobbled in, grunting with effort as he twisted to shut the door. Lorna heard locks falling over the door and grinned beneath her mask. A gun barrel appeared in a second floor window and the two Raiders stooped before darting out of the light. Rina and Tantric split up and the crew separated to surround the farm. They threw rocks at metal cans, spooked the Brahmin, and shot into the sky. As she crouched near a rock, Lorna could see the young woman holding the gun out the window. She was scared, moving the barrel back and forth between the noises. They weren't prepared.  
Uno appeared beside her, breathing hard. "You ready, Boss?" She nodded and the two made for the door while Tantric shot rounds into the dirt far off. Uno thrust into the door with his shoulder and the wooden locks snapped, wet and swollen from recent rains. The woman inside, tying a tourniquet around her husband's wound, screamed as they broke in.  
Lorna shouted to her subordinates outside, "Take the girl," and Tantric was quick to barrel past them to the stairwell. He sprinted up as the wife yelled to her daughter to run. Tantric had the girl by her legs as he dragged her down the stairwell, letting her twist and writhe, screaming for help. Lorna grimaced; she knew help never came. She'd tried just as hard. The girl was splintering her fingernails on the wooden steps, groping for purchase as Tantric jerked her down. Rina was waiting at the door, spinning a knife between her fingers. Lorna saw the moment the daughter realized Tantric was taking her outside - her eyes widened, tears soaking her cheeks, and she bared her teeth as she struggled, shouting at her parents.  
The girl's screams were muffled as they shut the door. Outside, she would ward away any "do-good trash," Uno had said. Homeless 'Minutemen' with hand-made pipe pistols and ballsy scavvers with rusted up handguns could jump in at any moment; "Any boss I've had dumb enough to think he's invincible tried to scare 'em or shock 'em, but nothin' scares people runnin' into a crew's assault. They're there to fight, and you put 'em down."  
Lorna watched the couple on the ground, their eyes shut tight, the man's hands over his wife's ears. She stepped closer to them, running her fingertips against the handle of her pistol on her side.  
There was a moment of clarity. The woman gazed up through tear-clouded eyes, her face tight as she sobbed, screeching as she heaved. The farmer's expression was broken, his shaking hands clutching his wife's ears to keep her from hearing their daughter being butchered outside. The girl was screaming hoarsely, voice jagged as glass - the sound of suffering. In that moment, Lorna saw herself, masked and scarred, alone in the apocalypse yet beset by demons. They yowled at her feet - twisted beasts driven to their captive bolt.  
The gun in her hand didn't shake - she didn't tremble or hesitate. It touched his forehead. Lorna heard the world pause before the explosion. It was another moment of peace followed by chaos. The farmer's skull met the impact and shattered - he slumped against his wife. His hands fell away. The woman was grabbing his shirt, pulling him close. She was shouting. She held his face close to hers. His blood smeared across her hands. It hadn't been Lorna's bullet - Uno stood near her, gun still aimed.  
Gunshots exploded outside and soon the front door was thrown open as Tantric and Rina dragged their victim in. There were men shouting behind them, shooting at the walls of the farm. Lorna looked to Uno, who tore the burlap mask from his head aggressively. Bullets struck through the flimsy wooden walls as rounds were sprayed across the entire frontside of the home. He crouched down, arming himself, and had to yell over the sound of cracking firearms; "Tan! Who the fuck-"  
Rina dragged the daughter to the corner where her parents lay. Lorna didn't look to see what they'd done. Tantric flipped the dining table onto its side for cover and the Raiders grouped behind it. Tantric shouted back, "Looks like another crew! We can take 'em!"  
Lorna glanced at the family they'd captured. The woman was clutching her daughter close. The girl's eyes were frozen wide. Ligaments and meat hung from the visible joint where they'd amputated her leg. The bones of one arm jutted from her flesh, snapped into pieces. Her scalp had been half-removed - violet and crimson webs spread across her skull were bare, the flesh of her head, still clutching hair, hung to her shoulder. The mother was shaking.  
Lorna was town away from staring by Uno's hand on her shoulder. She ripped away her own mask and stared at him. He looked confident, angry - he narrowed his eyes at her. "Now's the time, Boss. Do or die."  
She nodded and gripped her pistol. The farmer's wife suddenly shrieked and Lorna twisted around to find a stranger behind them. He wore a surgical mask and rags. He was laughing. Lorna shot forward at him, lifting her gun to smash his head. He let loose, spraying anything in front of him with bullets and frag. Lorna felt a round rip through her thigh and she fell sideways, away from the man. Away from her crew.  
Rina was gone. Tantric's abdomen was leaking blood onto the ground around him.  
She launched herself from the floor, aiming for the enemy Raider's head, pulling the trigger as soon as she stood. He fell back with a shout, a splatter of blood hitting the wall behind him. Lorna's leg gave and she fell again, crawling to Tantric's body. His eyes were glazed over. Beside him, she saw Uno. He lay flat on the floorboards, eyes wide. He was alive, gasping.  
Lorna crouched over him, fumbling with his chest armor to see beneath. She threw it to the side and froze. The intruder had hit him multiple times, focusing on his abdomen and chest. Lorna grit her teeth and hissed at her Second, "They hit your lungs. But you'll be fine." She felt his hand land on her shoulder, heavy against her neck. His chilled fingers groped against her skin. He was scowling, eyes hard on her own. Lorna clutched the arm scraping at her throat. She couldn't tell if he wanted her to act or wanted to kill her. The blue of his eyes was fading, but still he was able to press his hand against her throat and pulled her face close.  
Blood coated his teeth. He suppressed a cough, but it began to flood his mouth and stained his lips. His voice was light, softer than she'd ever heard. "Kill her."  
He released her and reached for the pistol in her hand. Lorna kept her face straight as he moved the barrel to his forehead. She wanted to cry, maybe, but silence was easier. His eyes softened for a moment. She cocked the gun and he shut his eyes, a wet choking sound in his throat. She crooked her finger quickly and he was gone.  
The blast reverberated against the close walls and upturned table and Lorna was defended by a high-pitched whine. The shooting outside had slowed, but she could hear reloading alongside the occasional shot that blew splinters across the floor like shrapnel. She turned, stumbling, to find the wife. The woman was still wrapped around her mutilated family, silent. Lorna moved for her and the woman gasped when she was heaved from the ground.  
Lorna twisted the woman's arms against her back and stood behind her as she lead the woman to the door. The farmer's wife tried to press back, begging Lorna to stop. She tried to twist away, but Lorna held tight, arching herself to hide behind the woman. They approached the door and Lorna swung it open to a spray of ammunition. She felt the woman's body jerk in her grasp as she was torn apart by bullets. The Raiders were hollering and whooping at them, throwing rocks at Lorna's feet as she struggled to hold the dead weight shield upright. She reached down to her side as she walked and found the single frag grenade Uno had tossed her in Lexington. "Never know when you gotta blast somethin'," he'd said. She bit the pin between her teeth and yanked it away before tossing the grenade over the corpse's shoulder. In the darkness, the attackers didn't see the small explosive. It landed near their leader's feet as he howled at her.  
The explosion took out the leader and three members of the crew standing nearby. Their limbs had been separated or demolished, and the assailants were left shrieking in the dirt. The frag pieces shot into the two last Raiders, incapacitating them, but Lorna knew they likely had the chems to make it numb. She dropped the woman's body and sprinted out of the light to the fence lining the perimeter. She heard movement as saw a form sprinting several meters out.  
The form removed something from its head and dropped it as it ran. It was Rina, escaping the chaos to save herself. Lorna spat onto the ground, carving Rina's image into her mind. She couldn't make it to Philadelphia alone - Lorna knew she would either die on the way or be caught. She would find her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So?   
> Thanks for reading. Tell me if there's a typo...


	3. Lori

The water of the wasteland was viscous with centuries of waste. Lorna hovered inches above it, imagining the mud that would cake her teeth. She dipped her fingers into the grey liquid washing against the sand beneath her. It felt thick, heavy like alcohol. A shot ricocheted off metal behind her and Lorna flung herself onto her back, pistol aimed at empty air.  
There was a mass of buildings behind her, the beginning of Boston. She had followed the highway out of Lexington, scampering through the darkness like a fleeing mouse. Uno had told her no crew could assault the big settlements to the south, where humans isolated themselves behind tall walls and traded trinkets between each other in some facade of civilization. With her scarring, she had hoped to play the victim to one of these 'settlements.' She had seen the glow of humanity in the otherwise dark night - a halo of artificial light a beacon to the lost.  
She had been stopped by her thirst. She'd stared at the waterfront for nearly an hour before finally considering cupping the water in her filthy hands for relief. Nausea had begun setting in and her head felt light. Her thirst was forgotten, however, as more gunfire blasted in the streets she couldn't see. Lorna pulled herself to her feet and snuck to the edge of the neighborhood, only accessible by alleyways to avoid the fighting. Her leg still nearly dragged behind her, the bullet wound held by a tourniquet made from the lower half of her own pants.  
Men were shouting, raspy voices unlike the raiders' who'd scorched their insides with chems. They sounded as though they were being choked, yet the voices were moving. Lorna sat against the base of a building and checked her pistol - two shots. She let her head fall back into the wall in defeat. She would have to wait them out, save her bullets for anyone left.  
Suddenly, the gunfire stopped. A woman's voice rang out, shouting, "Get what you can off 'em. Sweep the building again - he has to be here somewhere!"  
Feet scurried and Lorna aimed at the corner of the building, ready for any assailant that could make the wrong turn. She held her breath as the footsteps pressed further away.  
"'Ey! We gotta live one back here!"  
Lorna was shaken by the voice behind her. She jolted sideways and discovered her weak point - the man had been sniping from the building's roof behind her, the way she had come in. She stood to run, hastily deciding to run back the way she had come, in case the attackers had more set up deeper into Boston. Heavy footsteps pounded down the alleyway towards her.  
Lorna tried to launch herself into a run, but dehydration was like honey drenching her limbs and mind. She raised her gaze to see the beach, scattered in colorful rags and skeletons, likely just as old as her. A blast of white heat, an explosion of shrieking nerves, hit her side and Lorna fell, the wind knocked out of her by a blunt force from whoever had caught up. She felt her ribs bow against the strength of the weapon. Something in her leg cracked, but she wasn't sure what. As she hit the ground, a fist connected with her eye, the soft skin over her cheekbone splitting against a knuckle. She was immediately flipped onto her stomach as her head buzzed and ears rang.  
Her cheek scraped against concrete as the attacker sat themselves on top of her. She heard the sound of a wooden bat dropping beside her. The muzzle of a gun pressed the back of her head. A voice behind them interrupted, "Wait, didn't he want a live one to, ya know, _interrogate_ or whatever?"  
"When the hell did you start listening?" It was the woman who had been directing the group sitting on her, digging the rim of the barrel hard into Lorna's scalp. The woman scoffed at her team, but raised herself up enough to wrench Lorna's arms behind her back. The woman growled, "You'll tell us where he is, huh?" Lorna's shoulders twisted painfully, her face rubbing raw against the sidewalk as the woman jerked her back and forth, tying her wrists together. The world went black as her head was covered by an empty, heavy-weave backpack. The inside smelled of spilled booze, raw meat, and gasoline. The back of her shirt was yanked up, choking Lorna as she was lifted from the ground.  
A rope was tied around her neck, sealing the bag and cutting off clean air. The rope was yanked and Lorna was made to follow the group as they began walking towards Boston proper. No one addressed her as she was pulled behind them. She stumbled as her side ached, a pang eating at her insides with every step. Her eye was already swelling, the flesh throbbing in sync with her pounding head. They were chatting ahead of her - casual, friendly banter following a successful battle.  
The heat inside the bag was overwhelming after no more than a mile, and Lorna began panicking. It seemed every step she took in the Commonwealth was a step into a cage. She was surrounded at every angle, every moment - whether she did nothing or anything. The disgusting water, dried foods, and warm beer were just a way to add a minute to your life. She resigned, falling to her knees, the heat of the asphalt beneath her immediately stinging her bare skin. The tourniquet tightened around her thigh, pressing her wound painfully. The group paused at the rope pulled taut. The heavy steps of the woman approached her and she was flattened by a boot to her chest. Lorna let a shout escape her as she hit the street, her side tender against the rocky shards kicked up by centuries of disrepair.  
The woman stood close and shouted down at her, "Get the fuck up!" She spoke in a taunting, childish voice, "Just a few more blocks and all those boo-boos won't ever hurt again."  
Lorna wanted to snarl at her, breaks her bonds and knife the woman's feet. She wanted to cut her face open while the woman _begged_. She wanted to hear Tantric's laughter as they sliced her up. Her thoughts were cut short by the woman yanking the rope, forcing Lorna to stand again. She held the rope shorter, keeping Lorna moving at a brisk pace behind her.  
After another half hour of labored breathing and collapsed footing, they finally slowed. Lorna heard the sound of a doorknob turning followed by the sound of cocking guns. A voice spoke from inside - hoarse and choked like the men around her, "Hey, you're back! And you brought a friend!" The words were less confusing than the tone - bright yet aggressive, happy yet spiteful.  
Lorna was led through the threshold but the sounds of groaning metal and far-off gunfire remained. They had taken her to a camp. She was taken past lowered voices and felt the crack of a glass bottle against her shoulder, tossed at her by some onlooker. The voices quickly turned from hushed to jeering shouts.  
"Get what's comin', trash!"  
"Hope they gut you like a Brahmin!"  
"Hang her!"  
Lorna was gnawing a hole through her cheek. It was unlikely they would listen to her. A crowd, beset by the pack mindset, wanted blood, and they wouldn't be sated without. She was stopped suddenly and a heavy hand pushed her to her knees. The voice that had greeted them spoke again, confident and loud as he addressed the crowd. "My people! We have got ourselves a public display, here. This bitch here, she's a part of the scum that took out Sammy, Frank, Will, Paulie, and Dara!" The noise of the crowd rose, screaming for Lorna's execution, echoing the names the man had listed. "Still haven't found the man responsible for it all, but," the voice came closer and Lorna felt him grab a fistful of the bag over her head, "I'm sure this little lady knows just where to find him."  
The bag was ripped away, stray hairs torn along with it, and her eyes were assaulted by bright lights and moving bodies. Her left eye was too swollen to see, leaving her good eye to work heavy-lidded. The form before her was blurry, a mix of blacks and reds and yellows. He threw the bag far off and a lean hand gripped her throat, raising her chin to face him. His face swirled with hues of beige and red.  
He spoke to her, the crowd silent for their leader, "What's your name?" Lorna wavered, listing as her whole body shook, exhausted and beaten. He slapped the side of her head, shaking the hand holding her throat. " _What_ is your _name_?"  
Lorna's jaw was like clay as she murmured the name Nate had called her, tongue numb against her teeth. "Lor.. Lori."  
The man paused, watching her carefully before releasing his grip. Lorna slumped down, her head hung low. He moved to someone in the crowd and spoke low, encouraging the crowd to become rowdy without action. Some threw trash at her, crumpled food boxes and soda bottles that seemed to pound bruises into her arms. The man spoke again, now to the crowd. She saw his arms raise and head turn to see every witness. "'Fraid we'll have to postpone our fun, everyone." People fought back, shouting their disapproval before silencing beneath his authoritative voice. "Now, now, I know you want justice. We all do. But I ain't one for spilling blood if the person ain't earned it."  
There was a moment of hesitation. Murmured disapproval surrounded her. Eventually, the crowd dispersed, though slowly. Minutes passed as Lorna was abandoned on the street, the leader having left through an alleyway with several members of the crowd. Once the world seemed to have settled, all bloodlust having been shelved, Lorna let herself fall back onto her ass. She bent her knees and pulled them close, her arms still bound too tightly, pinching her flesh against the makeshift cuffs.  
Finally, the man appeared again, suddenly standing over her. His voice was softer, nearly a whisper, "You fallin' asleep?" He nudged her with his boot, just missing her bruised side and pinched bullet wound. He waited for a response, but she was silent. "Look, we gotta ask you some shit, but you don't look like you're in any condition. But before I have anyone help you, I gotta ask: did you kill my men?"  
Lorna's head lulled to the side where he stood, her good eye focused on his black hat. "I don't know."  
The man sighed as two arms loops through hers, hoisting her upwards. "Wrong answer, doll." The men behind her, holding her arms tight, followed their leader towards the red blur of a nearby building.

Inside the damp cool made Lorna's skin itchy and heated, flaring her nerves. The men took her to an egg-shaped pod lined with red suede cushions, one of many scattering the main room. Lorna struggled half-heartedly, digging her heels into the plush carpeting. The leader was speaking with a woman at the far end as Lorna was wrestled into the pod. The voices were muffled as though her head was beneath water.  
One of the men who'd brought her in undid the metal restraint on her wrists, only to unravel a roll of duct tape adhering her arms to the chair's arm rests. Lorna lay back against the headrest, pressing her aching skull against the hard foam with the hope of comfort. She heard the conversation between her captors die down, and soon a small woman appeared beside her. Her words mashed together in Lorna's mind, confused by a heavy accent. The woman asked her something, but Lorna could only stare at her. Her head buzzed with the static of fatigue, her eyelids heavy and limbs like weights.  
When no response came, the woman searched her coat pocket and Lorna caught the glimmer of a syringe. Her mind flashed with the news reports she had seen on television a lifetime ago - miracle 'Death Drugs,' administered to prisoners of the State that caused intense euphoria before a sudden death by organ failure. The thoughts passing through her mind were sluggish, often disappearing as she momentarily blanked out. It took the pinch of the needle against her arm for her mind to snap back.  
The woman was already pressing the plunger down, emptying whatever chemicals she had into Lorna's veins. The spot of red left behind mingled with track marks left by the bent hypos Ford and his crew had used on her. She was given leftover chems - Psycho that had been stepped on, leaking Jet, and powdery Mentats - when the raiders wanted more from her.  
"Now, just relax and watch the television screen," a voice instructed, every word echoing in Lorna's head. Her heart began racing, her chest visible in its movements, while her body sunk into the chair. The pounding in her head slowed; the wound on her leg numbed. The woman began attaching wires to Lorna's head, connecting her to the machine. The glass door was pressed down and Lorna found herself encased. Her eyes seems to roll in her head as she searched for a release bar. A small television screen dropped down, antennae spiking towards her face. The screen was static for a moment before Lorna felt electricity surge through the base of her skull. She saw the screen turn white before her vision went black.

Dr. Amari settled into the chair at her terminal and began the process of connecting her system to Lori's brain. Hancock stood beside her, watching the screen as it flashed white while Amari hunched over her terminal. Finally, she glanced at him; "Well, Mayor Hancock, she is connected. What, exactly, are we looking for?"  
Hancock leaned an elbow on her desk, face near the television monitor that would show the new girl's memories. "She was captured near Pickman Gallery. Fahrenheit thinks she's one of the raiders there, but this girl doesn't seem like the killer type, ya know? Most raiders I've met, they scream and fight. This girl had the opportunity lots of times, but didn't do anything. She just took it."  
"That does seem strange," Amari confirmed, tapping through commands decorating her screen.  
"I dunno. I just don't wanna risk puttin' down an innocent just because she was there. So, I'm hopin' you can dig through her head a little. See if she was ever at Pickman."  
Amari nodded. "I understand, but it seems unethical to watch someone's memories without their consent. She's barely conscious."  
"If she's just a scavver, I'll have her fixed up. But I also can't waste resources on someone I'll just have to kill."  
There was a heavy silence as Amari prepared the visualizer. Hancock could see his prisoner silhouetted in the Memory Lounger. Something in the girl's expression had thrown him. She looked tired, resigned - the last raider they'd dragged in had been feral, biting at their throats and screaming about murdering every person he saw. Half her face was swollen from a black eye, her throat had violet rope-burn, and a cloth tied around her thigh was soaked through in blood. She looked more like the victim of a raid than its perpetrator.  
"What time period should I start at?" Amari asked, positioning the screens as she finished preparations.  
"Go a week back."  
The screen flashed again before the image of a ruined city filled it. The woman, Lori, watched a deserted street, a cigarette entering her vision every few seconds. She looked to her side where another woman, clad in spiked armor and ammunition, drank beer with a rifle in her lap. She looked back to the street and seemed to freeze. The cigarette smoke eventually dissipated as the sun set, casting hues of pink and indigo across the horizon.  
Hancock shook his head. "Well, that looks like Lexington. On-and-off inhabitation. Go another week back."  
The screen blinked as Amari typed, and Hancock saw the silhouette in the Memory Lounger twitch. The same empty city appeared on the screen, this time with a blue-haired man staring through a scope at Lori's side. They were several stories up, watching the ruins in the heat of the afternoon. Lori's vision was stuck on the man as he repositioned himself, never straying from the scope of his sniper rifle. He said something, but they couldn't hear it. The image moved as though Lori was nodding. Hancock grunted, "Further."  
The screen flashed again and they watched Lori stare down at the woman she had been with. She was tied to a streetlight, seated on the ground. Lori's eyes swept the street and revealed two men tied to the adjacent poles. One was the blue-haired sniper - grimacing with his head down - while the other dripped blood from his lips onto the asphalt between his legs. Lori's gaze went back to the woman and they watched her backhand the girl, bloodied spit hitting the ground behind her. Hancock stood straight and smirked; "Well, ain't this somethin'? How do you go from beating someone to drinkin' with 'em?"  
"Very curious," Amari responded, her tone half-hearted; "Another week?" Hancock nodded and felt for a cigarette in his pocket. As he lit it, a new image filled the screen.  
Grey walls surrounded her, barely visible beneath dying fluorescent lighting. She was on the floor, staring at her outstretched arm. Her arm bent, bringing her hand to her face, out of their vision. She pulled it back to see blood dripping from her fingers. Hancock cursed lowly and pressed his hands to the desk, leaning in. Lori's vision moved to the doorway blocked off by a large object. An empty can of Pork 'N Beans sat in the corner and she reached for it. The image shuddered as she scooted herself closer, somehow unable to sit up or crawl. Her fingers caught the edge of the can and she brought it close, immediately dragging her bloodied fingers against its innards. She seemed to suck her fingers clean of what little liquid and meat had coagulated at the base. Amari made a soft sound of pity and typed another command.  
The television flashed again, but they saw the same room. Now, Lori was sat against a wall, her bare legs outstretched against the linoleum. Long scrapes and gashes lined her thighs, though most seemed as though they'd had time to heal. Amari didn't wait for the video to continue before changing it again. The same walls, though now a stark backdrop to Lori's shaking hand. She was holding it near her face, a rag bandage tied loosely around her fist. She shook as though she were freezing. Her other hand moved to grab the bandage and she unraveled it carefully, appearing to cringe. As it was finally lifted, they saw that one of her fingers had been cut off at the first knuckle. It was fresh, bare meat visible around a bare joint. Amari gagged.  
"Jesus," Hancock murmured, fixated on the pulsing flesh as Lori's hand worked to cover it again, the screen going black as her eyes shut tight in pain. The image changed to show only the checkered linoleum of the room she had been in. The image jolted constantly before dirty fingers appeared in her peripheral vision. There was a blur and her eyes settled on a man with black paint on his face, baring blackened teeth as he thrusted above her. Hancock scowled and looked away as Amari worked to change the memory. He could see the man moving on the screen and felt rage flare in his chest.  
Suddenly the screen came alive with vibrant colors. They saw spotless furniture and a television set with moving images of people dancing. The walls were solid and painted and a Mr. Handy, shined chrome glistening, came into view carrying a mug. Lori's hand reached for it and Hancock stared at the pristine shine of her rounded, white nails. "What the fuck is this?"  
Amari was taken aback by the memory. "It- It looks like... Before the bombs fell. I've never seen such restoration. Could someone have been able to produce this? I didn't think it was possible to-"  
"No," Hancock interrupted. "Somethin' ain't right, here."  
"I've only seen memories like this from ghouls and Mr. Valentine. Do you think...?" She looked up at him quizzically.  
"I dunno," he grumbled. "We'll just have to ask her."  
The video continued, showing trees blown into green flurries outside a clear glass window. Lori made her way down a carpeted hallway to a room decorated in children's toys. She crept towards the blue crib lined with white sheets and revealed a sleeping infant wrapped in blankets. Hancock raised his head and glared at the ceiling. "Fuck."

When her vision returned, Lorna felt the sting of the duct tape on her arms mixing with her fevered sweat. Whatever chem she'd been given seemed to erase the pain, her mind finally aware. She had dreamed about the Sanctuary Hills so vividly, she had nearly forgotten the devastated world around her. The glass dome lifted, revealing a man whose flesh was burnt red. He spoke calmly, almost comfortingly, "We need to talk about Lexington."  
Lorna's good eye narrowed and she spat, "The fuck do you mean?"  
He raised his hands to stop her. "I know this was probably the worst first impression, but I gotta keep my people safe. You're an unknown, doll. Either work with me here, or I'll have to take you back out there and start where we left off."  
His threat sounded benign in his even tone. She couldn't see the point of fighting if it gave her the more time to escape. She huffed and the man smiled. Beneath the shade of his tricorn hat, his eyes were voids, watching every twitch of her fingers.  
The man motioned at her left hand. "How'd that happen?" Lorna glanced at the stump of her ring finger. The 'missing piece' in Ford's collection.  
"Lost it in a fight," she muttered. The man chuckled and pulled a chair close. He fell into his seat and crossed his arms.  
"Why did you tie up those people?" He was smiling lightly. She was frozen by his question.  
Her mouth was dry; she tried to play dumb. "Who?"  
He refused to reveal any frustration - instead, he smirked at her. "Come on - we all got secrets, but yours can keep you alive. Out with it."  
He stared at her hard. Lorna ground her teeth, testing the hold of the duct tape. Her jaw twitched and she settled her eyes on his, dominant gazes clashing. "I needed them. For protection."  
His voice was low as he continued, "Why?"  
Lorna nodded her head at her missing fingertip. "From the people who did that."  
The man nodded and stood slowly. "Look, Lori - we know what you are. You don't need to run anymore. Dr. Amari knows some people that can help you."  
Lorna tensed against her bonds, eyeing Amari, the woman who'd drugged her, as she joined them. "What d'you mean? I don't need help. Just let me go."  
Amari spoke up, her voice gentle, "It's far too dangerous to leave you on your own. I have connections to the Railroad - have you heard of them?"  
Lorna tugged at the duct tape, grunting in effort. "Just let me fucking go," she growled.  
"You ain't leavin'," the man asserted, lighting a cigarette. "I can't risk letting you get killed just because you don't know what you're doing."  
At his words, Lorna thrashed in the chair, kicking against the leg rests and twisting at the duct tape that clung to her skin. She screamed at him, face twisted with rage, " _You don't even fucking know me! You can't - I won't let you keep me prisoner!_ "  
The man sighed and nodded at Amari. The doctor left them and Lorna heard her begin typing at a terminal. Suddenly, the wires attached to her head began tingling, light waves of static shooting into her flesh. She felt her arms lax and her body collapsed back. He spoke slowly, "You need to relax. We'll explain everything. _You're safe now._ "


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhat short - I had mad writer's block, but I got it! Please comment!

Someone was speaking. Muted, far-off sounds mixed with strange voices. Lorna blinked, catching a glimpse of her surroundings. She was lain on a couch, across from the scarred man in a dirtied Revolutionary overcoat and a man in sunglasses and a trench coat. She felt the sting of thirst pang in her throat and coughed involuntarily. Both men turned their heads to her and she felt adrenaline burst through her limbs. They stood and Lorna flung herself upwards, crouching against the back of the couch. She glared at the men, who smiled as though she were a joke. Her hands were finally free; she grabbed at unfamiliar clothing in search of her knife or pistol. The clothes were off-color, stained - patched jeans and a t-shirt the color of bile.  
The stranger spoke first. "We-ell, good morning, my friend!" His voice was smooth and cheery. "Glad you woke up before I got too bored. Mayor Hancock tells me you're a little confused. I'm Deacon."  
He smiled at her, a mixture of sincerity and calculation. Beside him, Hancock's skin seemed stretched taut, scars not left by wounds. He watched her closely, expression hard. Lorna was silent.  
"This is an agent from the Railroad," Hancock said cautiously. "He's gonna take you to their headquarters. With things how they are, synths ain't safe until they're assimilated."  
Lorna scowled. "Assimilated? What the hell do you mean?" Her voice smoldered in her throat, words scraping through her dried mouth.  
"Well," Deacon started, stepping closer slowly, "most synths come straight from the Labs - the Institute, I mean - and go through a network of agents to find a new life, including new memories."  
Hancock interrupted before Lorna could argue. "You don't _have_ to get the memory wipe. Relax."  
Deacon continued, "We can always use more agents - people who can help escaped synths get to their runners safely. There're synths and humans, so being sure isn't exactly necessary."  
"So, what, you want me to join your little army? I get dragged in here and told I'm a fucking robot, and you want me to go off and play fucking secret agent?" Lorna lurched from the couch and approached Hancock aggressively. She pushed her face into his, staring into the black emptiness of his eyes. "Who the fuck do you think you are?"  
After a moment, Hancock smirked. "You don't get it, sister. We're tryin' to make this world livable - comfortable. Those people you met, they're the ones you should be pissed at. They're out killin' the people we're tryin' to save. The Institute is out there stealing people - children included - and replacing them with look-alikes."  
She scoffed, backing away. "Well, why the fuck should I spend any of my time helping these people or things or whatever when _no one_ came to help me? I thought the fucking world ended, but you people are holed up in the middle of Boston acting like you're part of some fuckin' civilization."  
Hancock's voice grew louder, his brow lowering in anger. "You wanted protection? We're the best protection you could ever hope for out here. The world did end - that's why we're fixing it."  
Lorna glared at the mayor, glancing at the closed doors and open windows, calculating an escape route. She'd planned on finding idiots hiding behind their walls, eager to accept any story she could spin. She'd planned on begging for a doctor, crying dry tears over her long dead family. Here, they stole her thoughts and declared her existence false. They bound her, drugged her, and wanted her to follow a smooth-talking scavenger into the ruins to become some apocalyptic social activist.  
A thought crossed her mind - warm beds given in the spirit of charity, luxuries reserved for the needy, and rationed food exclusively for refugees. If they were willing to waste resources on a person simply because they labeled them as lost, they were likely the kind to risk their own lives.  
Deacon watched her behind black sunglasses, a spry grin on his lips. She relaxed her stance, Hancock raising his chin skeptically as she dropped her shoulders. She spoke lowly, watching the men as though they would draw on her at any moment, "Fine. But," she turned her gaze back to Hancock before stepping up to him again, hostility edging her words, "you come, too. I die, it's on you." As she spoke, she felt the point of a blade press against her abdomen. A silent moment passed as he seemed to consider her words. The pressure against her stomach disappeared and she heard the sound of his blade sliding into its sheath.  
He smiled again, raising his hands in mocking surrender. "Deal."  
Deacon chuckled. "Come on - you don't think I can take care of ya? It's only a half hour walk." He was laughing as though the mood were light, as though Lorna wasn't gripping her fists white.  
"Nah, man, it's cool," Hancock insisted, voice smooth with confidence. "It'll be good to get out there. I can feel myself going soft. Just, uh, lemme talk to my people a sec. Let 'em know."

Deacon stood with Lorna just outside the entrance to Goodneighbor, smoking a second cigarette. Lorna smoothed her sides, feeling for her weapons. They'd stripped every firearm and shard of metal she'd strapped to her side. "Seems stupid to let me go out here without a weapon," she grumbled.  
Deacon shrugged. "Not my call, sister. You'll be fine. Never really been around the Mayor this long."  
"Why does he look like that?" she asked finally, her voice nearly a whisper. She stared up at the red tower looming over the town, ignoring Deacon as his low laugh stung her.  
"It's not exactly a secret. He's a ghoul. That means, at some point, he messed with one rad too many and it pretty much fried his skin. Since you're new here, let me make this clear now: feral ghouls - you know, the 'Living Dead' running around everywhere - they're different entirely. And don't ask any ghouls about it, either," he explained, a trace of seriousness in his tone. Lorna nodded, sighing as the door to Goodneighbor finally opened. "Speak of the devil," Deacon grinned.  
Hancock stepped out gingerly, cracking his neck. "What'd I miss?"  
As they began their trek, Hancock fell in line behind Lorna, who stuck her fingers into the worn pockets of her secondhand jeans. Deacon led them, pressing against corners as they passed between alleyways. She heard gunshots from every angle, miles and blocks away. Neither man seemed phased, their hands tight on the firearms. It was nearing dusk - the horizon was turning magenta, indigo hues bleeding into a darkening sky.  
They reached the bottom of a pile of debris surrounding a semi and Lorna could see the water again. She couldn't remember the name of it.  
Finally, she spoke, her voice no louder than a whisper. "Where is everyone?" The two men were silent. "Why is it so-"  
"Hey."  
The sound of rifles loading silenced her and she turned to the voice. It was a scavenger, his face lean with hunger, standing behind them. Hancock spoke under his breath, "He must'a followed us."  
"Hey," the man repeated, his voice heavy with worry. "Where you guys headed to?" He wrung his hands anxiously, darting his eyes between the three of them. Behind her, Deacon stood slowly.  
"Don't worry about it," Deacon warned, his voice altered into a husky growl. "Why don't you go back the way you came, huh?"  
The scavver put his hands up at shoulder-level, shaking his head. "Wait, wait - I'm not here to rip you off or nothin'. You guys look tough." He rose his chin, eyeing Lorna. "Why ain't she armed? You guys takin' her somewhere? Somewhere safe?"  
Deacon stepped closer, pushing Lorna behind him as Hancock stood beside him. "Go back," Deacon repeated, aiming steadily at the man, "the way you came."  
The man smiled faintly. "Lemme help. She mus' be pretty important. Gotta have friends out here, right?"  
"Not a chance," Hancock replied, acid in his words.  
"Come on," the scavver insisted. He took a step and a blast rang out, deafening Lorna. She covered her ears, expecting more gunfire, as she looked up to see if he'd been hit.  
The man still stood, a bullet hole glistening beneath one eye. The wound didn't bleed - instead, she watched the meat beneath his flesh pulse, feeding into the wound, seeming to heal. She heard Deacon curse before Hancock shot several sounds into the man's chest.  
He staggered backward but regained his balance quickly, suddenly laughing. Bullets seemed to do nothing, merely tearing holes that filled back with wet muscle. He steadied his eyes on Lorna. He screamed, " _Where ya going'?_ "  
Lorna reached for Hancock's belt where his knife was sheathed. She grabbed the hilt and tore it from the ghoul's side, and pushed past the men, launching towards the man cackling.  
She aimed for his head, slamming down at him just as he caught her arm. The blade hung inches from his scalp. She could see the bare muscle where the bullet had torn through, now reconstructed. The man was healing as fast as he was being injured. He laughed in her face, spit landing on her face, mixed with blood from the shots to his chest.  
He screeched, eyes lighting red behind his pupils, his grip growing stronger. She felt her bones bow beneath his fingers.  
Her ears rang as another shot fired near her head, the man's skull bursting. The hand at her arm went limp and the body collapsed. She felt a rough hand at her shoulder and was pulled backward. Hancock turned her to face him and snatched the knife from her hand. He looked angry, disappointed - Lorna didn't waver.  
Deacon crouched over the body, delving his hand into the mess of bone shards and brain matter. He hissed, pulling back suddenly. "Fuck! It burned me. What the hell?" He grabbed a silver bar from the mess, careful as the flesh began foaming. "They got some kind of acid melting his brain. Must be a failsafe. He's a synth."


	5. Chapter 5

"So, just a fucking observation - I don't heal instantly. Not sure if you noticed that," Lorna spat, a finger in her ear as a high pitched whine still buzzed in her head.  
Deacon's voice had lost its confident edge, now heavy in post-battle tremors. " _That_ was not a _fucking synth_ I've ever seen. We need to get to-" he stopped short, glancing down an alley way, "we just need to get there, like, yesterday."  
They turned a corner and came to the historic Old North Church, the entrance blanketed in darkness as the sun became a splinter at the edge of the sky. Deacon waved them past and Hancock took point, leading them into the collapsed main room centered around lines of pews. The ceiling had crumbled into a pile, the misshapen bodies of feral ghouls twisted beneath the debris.  
Deacon led them to the basement, a maze of brick of concrete, that hit a dead-end decorated with a large brass emblem covering the wall. "This is the Freedom Trail entrance - Dez would probably freak if we used the employee entrance. So, it's gonna be a little rough since I couldn't exactly call ahead." Lorna rolled her eyes and he began working the emblem, metal shifting within the wall as he pressed the center. "Just stay cool and let me do the talking."  
Lorna felt a nudge at her side. Hancock was watching her, an accusatory look in his eyes. She frowned; "What?"  
"Don't go pullin' shit like that again," he grumbled.  
"Well, you weren't putting him down," she argued, watching Deacon as she felt Hancock's stare burning through her.  
Before he could retort, the wall beside them shook and began lowering, revealing a darkened tunnel. "Open says me," Deacon remarked smoothly, motioning for them to follow as he disappeared into the darkness. Lorna hesitated, pushed forward only by Hancock's presence at her back.  
She felt fine dirt beneath her feet, worn by time or endless footsteps. Crunching gravel echoed against hidden walls and Lorna felt her eyes widening to compensate as the darkness encased them. She was stopped as she ran into Deacon; she felt the tense muscles of his back against her crossed arms and jolted backward, stumbling into Hancock. The warmth had felt foreign, contact shocking her. She hadn't touched another person outside of violence in weeks.  
She heard clicking before the room burst with light, her eyes snapping shut as the fluorescent bulbs of construction lighting blinded her. A woman's voice boomed through the small room; "Stop right there. Deacon, who the hell is this? And- Mayor Hancock?"  
Lorna squinted, her eyes adjusting slowly. A group of four stood on a platform of rock, headed by a fiery woman glaring pointedly at Lorna. Deacon responded in a light voice, chiding, "Dez! This the welcoming committee? I figured you'd be pissed if I came in the back."  
Dez shook her head in disapproval. At her sides, her guards held a minigun and rifles, seemingly frozen in wait. She spoke to Lorna, "Who are you?"  
Deacon spoke over her, "This is our newest friend, Lori. She's a runaway - her wipe didn't take." Lorna considered correcting him, but Dez's hard gaze kept her quiet.  
"How do we know? We can't-"  
Deacon interrupted her, striding forward without hesitation. "Dez, we got something more important. I think we met a Gen-4." Worried expressions covered the faces of each witness.  
Dez's voice held strong she arched her brow, "What the _hell_ do you mean? This is serious, Deacon."  
"Here-" he handed the electronic shard from the man's head to her "-our new friend, here, ripped it out of his head. They can heal themselves, Dez. And it looked like they got some kind of failsafe to destroy the brain if you do kill it."  
Dez ran her fingers against the circuitry, a thoughtful look in her eyes. "We need to get this to Tom. But I can't just let people in, Deacon. We have security-"  
He interrupted again, though Dez seemed unaffected by his insubordination, "She's one of us, Dez. Come on - she didn't even know what a ghoul was!" Lorna could feel Hancock looking at her, but she refused to acknowledge him.  
"Regardless," Dez grated. "Glory, take care of our visitors. Deacon - with me." She turned and Deacon followed her through a hallway behind her, leaving Lorna and Hancock with the guards. The dark-skinned woman toting a mini-gun nodded at them, setting her weaponry down as the mood lifted.  
"Hey," she greeted casually, "I'm Glory." She sat at the edge of the raised rock, her feet brushing the sand covering the ground. "Lori, right?"  
Lorna nodded slowly, refusing to move closer. Hancock sighed and cracked his neck, leaving her side to lean against a wall. He lit a cigarette, catching Lorna's heated gaze. "You're the _inductee_ \- just answer her."  
Lorna turned her head back to Glory, uncomfortable as the group seemed to dissect her from afar. Glory smiled empathetically, though forced. "Do you know what a synth is?"  
"I'm told they're people made by machines in the Institute. But that man had lights in his eyes and I saw his face-"  
Glory raised her hands to silence her, nodding, "I know, I know - you're probably still a little jumpy from that. Just tell me what you know about Gen-3's and 2's."  
"I don't," Lorna insisted, "I don't know shit. They keep telling me I'm one, but I don't know what it means. I have memories. I had a son and a husband - I-" she trailed off. Glory waited, the room weighed down with silence as Lorna thought. "I've been forgetting things. I've been here - to this church - but I can't remember why. The statue outside, it's something historic, but I can't remember his name."  
"That happens sometimes when implanted memories don't take for whatever reason. Sometimes a trigger can spark up the little bits left behind," Glory explained, her tone softer as though she related.  
"My _memories_ aren't _fake_ ," Lorna insisted. "I was here before the bombs fell, my family got to a Vault, they froze us in cryopods, and I got out. That's it."  
"That's it?" Glory echoed teasingly. "You realize that would make you over two hundred years old, right?"  
Her heart seemed to freeze, her stomach and throat tightening in tandem. Her words stuck to her teeth, "Two- two hundred? What year is it?"  
Glory's grin dropped and she looked to Hancock. Lorna was bolted to the ground. "Uh, it's 2287. December."  
Lorna repeated the date under her breath, feeling as though the world had dropped from beneath her - she hadn't seen a date. The world was still in shambles, monsters lurking in abandoned houses - that's where everyone went, why the streets were empty. The world had died - two hundred years and the people of this new world still clung to scavenging, killing, stealing. Hancock spoke behind her, curious, "Don't you have a clock on that Pip-Boy?"  
Lorna turned her arm, glancing at the gridded map. "I didn't- I figured it was broken. I found it on a skeleton," she murmured, rationalizing her existence. "They kept me frozen for centuries?"  
Glory slapped a hand on her thigh, lips thinned into a frown. "Well, that all sounds, you know- it sounds weird. But that doesn't matter. Who you are, what you are - those are two totally different things. I'm a synth, for what it's worth. I know it's scary. Feels like the whole world wants you dead."  
Lorna nodded thoughtfully, eyes stuck on the ground. Hancock's voice broke her trance; "Glory, right? It's gettin' late. Where's she stayin'?"  
"You're not leaving me here," Lorna demanded, causing Glory to raise a brow at her tone with the mayor.  
"Relax, doll," Hancock soothed, relaxing against the stone wall. "These are the best people you could meet."  
"That isn't up to me, Mayor. But we're not done here." Glory continued, "Lori, have you undergone any extreme stress or trauma?" Lorna glanced at Hancock before nodding at the woman.  
"I was captured by raiders and held for a few weeks. I got away."  
Glory considered her carefully. "Raiders? And they kept you alive long enough for you to escape?"  
"I guess," Lorna snapped. "Look, I don't know what I'm doing here. Deacon said you guys need more hands, but I don't have any reason to trust any of you. I ran a fucking crew; I can do it again."  
Hancock scoffed rudely. "You had guns at your back."  
She turned to him and spat, " _They_ didn't drag me a fucking mile on a rope."  
Hancock took a step forward, his stance aggressive. "You got a real fucked up way of thanking me for not killing you."  
Lorna felt a hand at her shoulder and found Glory staring at her, disapproval in her eyes. Lorna tore herself from the touch, scowling. "I got nothin' to thank you for."  
The conversation was halted as Dez returned, stress draining the color from her face. "Glory: what's your judgment?"  
Glory covered for the weight of the room with a casual tone. "It sounds like a triggered leak causing her confusion, but I don't know how to explain where she's been. Says she was frozen in a Vault for two hundred years."  
Dez narrowed her eyes on Lorna. "Well, do you plan on helping us?"  
"Not like I got a choice," she grumbled, tracing her fingers gingerly along the chapped rope burn on the back of her neck. Hancock was pissed, crumpling the filter of his cigarette between his fingertips.

The Railroad was contained to an underground crypt. Stone coffins were bare, ancient remains likely reduced to the ash blanketing the floor. Desdemona had shown her to an empty cot, one of many huddled against the walls. It was a complete disappointment. Lorna had imagined warm food and some small community built on mutual existential confusion. Instead, agents scurried through debris and their leader hunched over a faded map, muttering to no one.  
Hancock appeared, dropping himself beside her at the edge of the bed. He brought a cigarette to his dried lips, eyes half-lidded. "So," he started, "we haven't had much of a chance to meet. I figure we should talk a little. Clear the air."  
Lorna sighed. "Might as well."  
People milled about, close enough to hear yet too focused to listen. Lorna watched for glances, quick glimpses people would sneak as they spoke. Hancock ignored her biting tone. "There's a place called Pickman Gallery just north of here. That's where Fahrenheit picked you up. I've heard a lot of shit about it. Sent some men to check it out - never heard back from a single one. When they dragged you in, I thought it was gonna be over, or at least close to. I thought, maybe if I make an example of the terror out there, maybe it'd start getting better. But you ain't a raider. You got that little bit of fear in you, still. That humanity."  
Lorna inhaled slowly; "I'm not a lost child. I've killed out here - I'm not afraid."  
"I know y'ain't. But bein' afraid is what makes people good. They fear for themselves or their loved ones, so they group together and protect each other. People who think they ain't afraid, they're the ones who give up and take to stealing and killing. They kill to keep themselves alive. Think the world'll only be safe once everyone else is gone, or once someone puts a bullet in 'em."  
"What are you scared of?" Lorna asked quietly, considering his words.  
Hancock lit another cigarette, dragging at the smoldering cherry as he thought. He answered as the smoke danced at his lips, "I grew up in Diamond City. Met a lot of good people there. People who ran stores, worked the farms that used to be there - ghouls and smoothskins alike. When my brother became mayor, he ran a campaign based on kicking out the ghouls. Called 'em 'menaces' and told the trash in the Upper Stands that they'd be better off with a clean view. He won and I saw these people I'd trusted, the fucking families I'd watched share meals with the ghouls - I watched 'em line up and force the ghouls into the ruins. They never had a chance."  
Lorna chewed her lip. Uno had been her guide to the world in the short time she'd known him. He'd told her the world was a carcass, feasted on by scampering scavvers and ignorant fools who thought they could bring the Old World back. She'd listened - it made sense. They had no central government to corral the populace, they had no authority figures to stop the killing. Children died as often as their parents. Rules and morality died as the bombs burnt the flesh from every soft-eyed infant and howling beast. He continued, "Guess I'm scared of letting good people suffer at the hands of tyrants. The world doesn't have to be so fucked up - if people just relaxed a second and noticed how easy it is to just let people live their lives - that's what'd fix it all, I think."  
Hancock spoke as though civilization had a chance - as though humanity could rebuild. He had a city, a mash of buildings with function, serving the community for mutual gain. He had armed guards and some kind of hierarchy that allowed him to leave the settlement without a worry. She voiced a thought as it came; "Does your brother know about you?"  
Hancock chuckled, running a finger down a shelled vein in his arm. "Nah. Haven't seen him since. I should've killed him in the office of his. I don't know if it would've made a difference."  
"Isnt killing, you know, detrimental to society?"  
Hancock's expression hardened. "We kill the people who _are_ a detriment."  
Lorna nodded again, whispering, "I let them kill good people." Hancock was silent. "They said they had to be violent or I'd be the one they'd kill. I didn't know what they would do. It was horrific."  
"Sometimes, you have to protect yourself. Sometimes, you have to see a good person die to realize you had the strength to stop it. I know." He took a long drag, trailing a cloud. "Had to watch one of my own go down before I finally got the courage to stand up to someone. When I did, when I pushed that fucker off that balcony and I heard his neck snap, I started to really understand what this world's about. The people of the past - they stuck together. Got railroads built, towns put up, but they always stuck close. We're just pioneers again, ya know?" He smiled, skin like worn leather as it smoothed.  
"I can't stop hearing her in my head. This girl, they cut her leg off and scalped her. Let her die in her mother's arms. I can't stop it, like it's in the back of my mind all the time. But I still wanted to protect these people. It felt like they were the only ones I could close my eyes around. They let me sleep through the night." Before he could answer, she glanced up, meeting his gaze, and murmured, "I can't thank you. I don't know if you've really saved me anything."  
"You're alive, ain't you?" he snapped, casual tone dropped instantly.  
"What the hell is that worth?"  
Hancock rose, stomping the scolding cigarette butt beneath his boot. "Get a fucking clue - all you got is your hide and you could barely hold onto that. You haven't proved a fucking thing, yet, and I ain't gonna be the one followin' you around to keep you alive."  
In a moment, she was standing and shoved the mayor back. His eyes filled with rage, lip twitching as he scolded her, "Don't you fucking try, little girl."  
"Yeah?" she chided, smirking at the hostility. She saw heads turn and someone was closing in on them. "The fuck you gonna do?"  
As he began to reply, fists clenched, Deacon appeared between them. "Woah, woah - come on, now, hug and make up. We don't have time for an internal power struggle. You," he looked to Lorna, "are coming with me. You said you'd help us, so help us."  
Hancock sneered, "Go on. Do something useful." He strode away, leaving Lorna stung.  
Deacon crossed his arms, playfully grinning at her. "You got a way with words. Probably don't want to make too many enemies, especially real important guys like him. Now get some beauty sleep in - we're leaving in the morning."  
Lorna was kept awake for most of the night, wrestled between guilt and anxiety. Her mind twisted Hancock's visage from anger to betrayal to the rare smile he'd offered. He seemed to be a soft soul hidden in a shell of decayed iron. She thought her actions through, repeating the scene behind a filter of shamed aggression. He was just another product of destruction - once his walls fell, he would succumb to bloodlust as she had. He was no better than her, no better than Uno, no better than the man who'd crawled to his wife to share his dying breath. Yet, he stood with an air of confident authority, a figure of beloved service.  
Deacon appeared, shaking her from her dreamless rest. She was given a combat rifle and armored clothing. Glory told her to watch her back. Lorna trailed behind Deacon, searching in futility for Hancock. She was alone again, wished good luck by the plastic faces of strangers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are my only source of joy.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything means something.

"The Great Green Jewelry of the Commonwealth - home to every racist and and blind eye with a cap to their name. You got profiteers in the Upper Stands, shops in the center, and various forms of vagrancy everywhere else." Deacon smiled at the sight - Frankenstein buildings were scattered across ancient Fenway Park, infested with bright-eyed citizens chatting and trading. "Used to be a newspaper here, but the mayor banned it - last I heard, the chick writing it got displaced up north. Sad sight when we lose the press, huh?"  
"A newspaper? What, did she fucking hand write it?" Lorna questioned as they entered the city's hub, scents of soap and oil mixing with the butcher's raw meat. Deacon mumbled something affirmative but the noises of the town were too distracting. Someone was offering haircuts while another shouted the benefits of firearms. A Protection lifted an arm from behind a stand centered between the shops. It spoke Japanese at them as they took a seat at its counter.  
"Hell yes, my man - we're celebrating!" Deacon announced, his cheery disposition unsettling Lorna as she felt eyes at their backs. Music was playing - songs she hadn't heard since dimly-lit dates with Nate in restaurants with pool tables.  
"Celebrating?" She tapped a finger on the scuffed countertop as the robot began pouring noodles into aged bowls. Deacon passed caps across the table and shoved a bowl to her. The scent wafted into her, steam rolling against her skin as she began salivating.  
"We're celebrating life! The ability to live and all the rewards and consequences of it all. You're a lucky lady - there isn't a lot of good going on out here, but I know you're gonna change it," Deacon explained, filling his mouth with pasta. She was almost disgusted.  
"You just say shit, don't you?" she accused in monotone. "You say idioms so you don't have to have a personality and everyone thinks they like you."  
Deacon didn't falter. Between bites, he answered casually, "You like me. That's different than trust, though. Trust no one, but give the benefit of the doubt to the people who watch your back." They ate in silence, atmosphere buzzing with chatter and the voices of dead musicians.  
Lorna could hardly eat, her insides twisting as she seemed to gorge herself on a single bite. They were about to stand when a man addressed them from behind. "Ain't seen you two here before. Who let you in?" The man was armored in baseball padding, an umpire's mask concealing his face. He slapped a wooden bat against his palm.  
Deacon's slid from the stool and replied smoothly, "Just got back from a long trip to the Capital Wastes. You know Dave? He'll vouch for us."  
The man seemed skeptical. "Outsiders don't get to just walk in anymore, bud. You better leave before you get these people riled up."  
Lorna furrowed her brow and played along. "But my sister's meeting us here!" She looked to Deacon with panicked eyes. "How will she know where to find us?"  
Deacon shrugged. "I guess you'll just have to get that medicine to the kid some other way." He shook his head, sighing loudly. "But this guy said we gotta go. Come on - I'm sure Cindy can find someone else to-"  
The man bellowed over him, "Okay, I get it. Get the hell out before I gotta make a scene."  
Lorna wrinkled her nose at the man and Deacon pulled at her arm as he started back towards the entrance. People were watching the confrontation. A woman's voice rose from the throng of traders. "They're synths!"  
The guard rose his hands high, holding the bat in the air. He shouted, "There's nothing to worry about, people! They're just travelers and they're moving on!"  
Deacon didn't rush, giving Lorna time to catch a glimpse of a man standing at the window of of the announcers' box. He watched them make their way out. She figured he was the mayor, having taken the highest point in the settlement as his brother had. As Deacon strolled past the security gate, his meaningless grin contrasting with the suspicious glowering of guards, she asked, "How old is Hancock?"  
Deacon shrugged, his tell of indifference. "Dunno, babe. Never really met him before all this."  
They reached the statue outside Diamond City and Deacon took time to speak with ragged merchants with their wares piled on Brahmin. The two-headed monster had sweet eyes as it watched her - dumb like a dog's. She heard complaints of discrimination and bullshit from the caravaners, heated statements instigated by Deacon's prodding.  
When he returned, sweat was forming on their faces. The heat of the sun had begun baking the concrete and Lorna was beginning to feel nauseous. His chipper voice grated on her; "Well, I got directions to the place we're hitting. Apparently, Tom found these coordinates in that Gen-4's head."  
"If you say so," she affirmed half-heartedly.  
The coordinates led them south to a warehouse seated between railroad tracks, dug into the manufacturing district like a thorn. Its metal walls were worn, paint faded into blotchy stains. Deacon took point, checking over the sills of shattered windows before leading her inside.  
Dust motes populated the air, filling Lorna's chest with the weight of centuries. Deacon scouted a room deeper in while Lorna pressed her hips to the wall, staring out the window. She held her rifle to her chest, checking its loading and tracing scratches decorating its surface. The wastes outside were still, letting her take a breath.  
A shot sounded and Lorna launched herself from the wall, dating across the room to slam herself against the doorway Deacon had gone through. The room was empty and Lorna was led deeper into the warehouse as more shots fired, reverb ricocheting against the aluminum walls.  
She finally reached Deacon, who crouched behind a shipping crate as a figure shot from the other side of the room. Lorna aimed carefully, hoping the person hadn't noticed her. A bullet grazed her shoulder and Deacon jerked her back, scolding her under his breath.  
The gunfire ceased and the figure spoke in a husky voice; "Hey, fuckface. Look at you - all stitched up and rolling in shit, just like we found you."  
Lorna's eyes widened and, despite Deacon's strength pulling her down, jolted up. Her vision adjusted to the shadows and the man removed the hockey mask covering his face.  
"Uno?" she murmured, fingernails scraping at the steel container hiding her companion.  
Uno laughed deeply, his sadistic smile tearing at her insides. "You didn't kill her did you? One thing I ask. One _fucking_ thing, but you couldn't even handle that. Who's that?" he asked pointedly, taking slow steps as he edged closer, tilting his chin towards her. Lorna couldn't speak. He was closing in, nearly close enough to touch. His face was intact, yet Lorna could only think of the blood coating her hands as she had tried to suppress the life draining from him only nights ago. "Replaced me already?"  
Uno's hand shot out, wrapping around her throat with the strength of a vice. Deacons shouted, drawing on him as a skeletal android appeared, flanking them. The android spoke in robotic tones, insisting he remain still. Uno didn't flinch behind the barrel of Deacon's rifle. Lorna choked, her throat a closing mass of clay in Uno's fist. Deacon tried to console her; "It'll be okay, Lori. Just stay calm."  
Uno spat, " _Lori_ , huh? Thought you liked being my boss lady. What happened to that?" His voice was mocking as he tested the pressure of each finger against her skin. "Shoulda killed you awhile ago. Look at you - fucking squirming. You pathetic fucking scav."  
Lorna tried to speak, tried to scream, but her voice was a knot in her throat. He twisted her sideways, slamming her against the wall. His second hand followed the first, sliding against pressure points before gripping her flesh. She choked loudly, gasping and kicking at his legs. Rifle still in hand, she attempted to smash it against him. The gun thudded dully against the raider's side, earning her a dark chuckle. He pressed harder, Lorna's vision burning at the edges, tears forced from her eyes as her head began pounding.  
Her rifle fell from her grip, her fingertips numb and muscles strained. She focused her eyes on Uno's - light blue and bloodshot, a view of the sky through carnage. He bared his teeth in a dominating grin.  
The blue eyes dulled, lost in a mile-long stare following the sound of slicing meat. Deacon jolted and shot the skeleton's head point-blank, sparking fireworks exploding at its base. Uno's hands loosened, nails biting into her as they slid away. He crumpled, Lorna's knife wedged beneath his chin, blade stabbed into his head. She fell over him, immediately removing the knife only to dig it in deeper from any angle she could manage. She used both hands to break through his skull, his scalp dismantled as she lost her will to stop.  
Deacon's hand at her shoulder finally halted the assault. His voice was low, careful. "Go watch the door. I'll take care of this." Lorna threw herself back, smashing into the wall behind her. She began shaking, and soon sobs tore through her, voice broken as it escaped her. Her insides stung and she felt herself fall sideways as she vomited.  
Before Deacon could touch her, she was stumbling out of the room. She fell to her knees just outside the door to the warehouse, scraping her hands against the gravel in an effort to keep her mind present. She was reeling, mind torn apart by Uno's emergence. She ground her hands until her palms bled, staining the dirt as she wore through her skin. Deacon sat nearby, offering only his presence.  
It was when dusk began to settle that Deacon managed to stand Lorna upright. She was trembling, though she felt her mind stop, leaving her frozen. He spoke gingerly; "Lori, I can't take you back to HQ."  
Lorna gaped at him, holding herself tightly. "What the fuck are you talking about?"  
"I gotta think about the whole, here. That guy in there - Uno - he was one of them. He had a chip in his brain and it melted the same way. I think they're after _you_ , crazy as that sounds. We'll keep you safe, but I can't risk one of those things following us right now." Lorna nodded slowly, unable to reply. Uno's words stuck in her mind. _Pathetic fucking scav._  
"Closest place is Goodneighbor. Hopefully, you didn't burn that bridge, yet."

"Everyone's welcome in my town." Hancock's words were hollow, drenched in indifference. Deacon slapped a hand against Lorna's back - another bittersweet celebration - before flicking his wrist in a shallow farewell to the mayor. Lorna was left standing in Hancock's office, pressing her tongue to her teeth while the mayor stared her down.  
Lorna's captor, a curvy woman covered in grime, stood in the corner. Fahrenheit, Hancock had called her. Lorna inhaled slowly, air burning like sparklers. "Thank you, Hancock."  
He rose from his couch and brushed past her. "Got nothin' to thank me for."  
Fahrenheit smirked at her as the man disappeared down the stairwell as Deacon had. "Another little pawn on the wrong side of the board," she chided. "What, the world ain't so pretty like you thought?"  
"Who are you? His fucktoy?"  
Fahrenheit scoffed, falling onto the couch where the mayor had been. "Not likely. You think you're tough, bitch? I caught you like a fucking rat."  
"You ambushed me," she shot back, only earning another laugh.  
"Hancock respects one thing - strength. How many times have you had your life saved, now?" She held an inhaler of Jet to her lips and inhaled deeply. Holding the vapor, she spoke in a strained voice, "Go on, little pawn. Find some light housework you can do."  
Lorna stormed out, stalking her way to the street. Night had fallen, casting a heavy darkness across the skyline. Neon buzzed from storefronts, constant below the sound of battles miles away. A guard saw her leave the State House and immediately approached her.  
"Fuck you doin' 'ere?" he growled, pulling his pistol from his side. "Jus' 'cause Hancock didn't kill you don't mean you're welcome here, raider."  
"I'm not a raider and the mayor said I could stay," she explained through clenched teeth.  
"Fuck that - you wanna live here? Pay up, bitch."  
Lorna lowered her brow and glared at the man. "I wouldn't give you my knife to kill yourself, shit-eater."  
A figure moved at the end of the street, head cocked as they watched. The guard continued harassing her, finger lain across the trigger of his pistol. "Even whores gotta pay rent," he insisted, cracking a filthy grin.  
"That's enough, Jay," Hancock's voice sounded from the figure. He strode closer, hands shoved into the pockets of his black pants, the American flag around his waist concealing a combat knife near his fingers. "She ain't a raider. Just another lost soul." His voice was like water over gravel, lacking the sting she had provoked.  
"Mayor," the man acknowledged quickly, "yes, sir. Just tryin' to clean the streets up." He sneered at her and skulked off, pistol showed into its holster as he grumbled.  
Hancock narrowed his eyes at her. "Why're you back? You get kicked out already?" He assumed a hostile tone again.  
"No. I'm can't go back. We got attacked by another Gen-4. Deacon said I'd be safe here." Her mind flashed with omitted facts, things a person would want to know before inviting her in - she was being followed, she couldn't remember her mother's face, she wished she hadn't stopped Uno.  
Hancock replied in mocking thoughtfulness, "Well, that's true. We got gates and guns. Why didn't you go to Diamond City? They got the Wall."  
She ignored the question, tired of interrogations. "I understand now. He- one of the raiders I killed was alive somehow. He lured us in and tried to kill me. He was a synth."  
Hancock nodded, expression solemn. "You understand? Understand what?"  
She huffed as he spoke to her like a child, forcing her to admit her fault. "You could'a killed me. You didn't. So thanks."  
Hancock shrugged as he offered a dry smile. "I don't want you here - my guys don't trust you. Everyone thinks their neighbor's a synth. Way I figure, you're at the heart of this bullshit. So, I'll take you out there. You help the Railroad, I help you. Simple as that."


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's back. Finally.

"It's like my memories are all too old to remember clearly. I remember waking up, and everything after that, but I know there was something about Nate's face I always loved. Something, but I don't know what. I remember that I grew up outside of Boston, but I only know that fact. I can't see a house or any pets or school or anything. I guess, it's like I read about my life but never lived it."

"You think you might really be a synth?"

"There has to be some way to know for sure, isn't there? It can't be impossible to figure out if someone's human."

"Used to be, people thought they could put a magnet to your head and, if you were a synth, they said you'd skitz out. Then, they started sayin' water could make a synth short-circuit. 'Course, tell that to Nick." 

Lorna sat on an age-flattened barstool speaking to a caravan guard while Hancock stood yards away handling a trade with the caravaner. It seemed he was making a point by leaving her to do business. It was morning and she had the taste of tepid beer lining her mouth in the heat. She raised an eyebrow at the guy. 

"Oh, you don't know Nick? Ah, great guy - he's a synth that got out but somehow he's just a real nice guy." 

She narrowed her eyes incredulously, "Fuck you mean? A synth?" 

He held up his hands as though he figured she was one of the terrified idiots. "No, no, see, he lives in Diamond City! He's all 100% good guy. I don't know the details, but he _looks_ different, too." She nodded slowly and looked over her shoulder at Hancock speaking with the caravaner across the decaying restaurant. It was another building that felt familiar, but she attributed it to the similar way walls fell and wood decayed across the wastes. He seemed to be wrapping up and caught her gaze for a moment before turning to leave. 

He was still unhappy being around her. He didn't voice for her to follow, but she did, silently appearing at his side on the street. He spoke as though he was talking to himself, "Guy said they haven't had any word of synth-sightings in over a week. Even fake ones. Don't know where to start." 

She sighed and shrugged. "They always come to me. Might as well just find somewhere cozy and wait." 

He scoffed under his breath. "Shit - sounds fun." 

Lorna smoked while Hancock took an occasional hit of Jet and wandered an old building. She was leaning against the railing of the porch taking in the choked vegetation as they sweltered in the rising heat. The front face of the house was gone entirely, opening its insides to the world. She considered taking a look around the building when she was stopped by footsteps down the road. They were small and soft, kicking rubble and gravel with their steps. She heard Hancock checking his ammo and she watched the turn of the street. 

It was a kid, somewhere around ten, dressed in rags and rubbing dirty fingers against their eyes. She felt compelled to move, but stayed solidly in place as the kid made their way past, not seeming to notice her. 

They dragged their feet, small sobs seeming to echo in the empty neighborhood. She risked a glance at Hancock, but he had his eyes set on the small traveler. He hissed when Lorna took a step on the creaking wood and the child twisted around with wide eyes. They cried out and began running away, only to hide behind a car. " _The fuck are you doing? Kids are the best trap you can set,"_ Hancock chided from the second story. 

She started to apologize but heard the kid's voice far off call out, "Hello?" 

She froze. It was the same way she'd called out to Ford's little trio. It sounded like her voice, but she knew it was the child, though it was hard to tell if they'd spoken when they still hid behind the broken vehicle. She didn't answer. 

The world shook and Lorna felt the splintering wood smash into her cheek as an explosion of light made her fall sideways. Blue, brighter than a flame, filled her vision and she heard Hancock curse shortly. 

Before her vision could clear, there were hands on her. The child was near, but it was uniformed men grabbing her arms to stand her up. She couldn't make her voice work before she felt the tremor again and seemed to be falling. It was too much to process too quickly. 

Suddenly, it was dark. She felt smooth metal as she fell to her knees, dropped by her captors. The child was there, silent as they walked from the room her eyes were adjusting to, while the men above her spoke lowly. She was grabbed again and walked forward, into a room with a large tube from ceiling to floor and a computer on a desk. It was an entry point of some kind, and the men pushed her through to the tube. She half-expected it to be a shower or a holding cell similar to her cryopod at the Vault. 

Instead, they stood behind her, gripping her shoulders, and the floor descended. It was an elevator, gliding smoothly past bright lights before the wall gave to the huge interior of a pre-war-styled cavern walled with the smooth white of a future that never came. People milled about, clean and stark against the scenery she'd only recently gotten used to seeing. 

It was horrifying, yet comfortable - she remembered a world like this, but it was only a _memory._ The elevator slowed and stopped at ground level with an impossible smoothness. She was pushed out again, and held her head down as she was escorted through glimmering arches and up a spiraling staircase that nearly made her blind with its sheen. 

No one spoke to her, and her voice seemed entirely lost. 

She was taken into a room with a long table and a window that overlooked the cavern. The men pushed her to sit down at the head of the table and she felt cold metal touch her wrists. She didn't fight as they handcuffed her beneath the chair, making her prisoner to yet another. They stood beside her in silence until the door to the room slid open with a soft glide. 

It was her. It was Lorna looking back at herself. She was spotless and her hair was trimmed, tucked perfectly into curls beneath her earlobes. It was her face. 

She began panicking. She was looking at herself like an animal at the zoo. She watched her own hands find a pen and clipboard in a nearby desk. She saw herself touch the pen's tip to her tongue like she'd learned from peers in law school. Her breath was too short, rising as bursts that shook her cuffs against the chair's seat. 

The other her sat in a chair close by and smiled. "Good work, boys. Please return to duty." The men left with as many words as they'd offered, abandoning Lorna with herself. 

The woman began writing on the clipboard, glancing up at Lorna's face occasionally. Her breathing had slowed but she still felt dizzy and wanted to tear out of her skin. Finally, she spoke. "What is your name?" 

Her jaw clenched, but she hoarsely answered, "Lorna." 

"Good. And where are you from?" 

"Boston." 

The woman nodded and wrote. "Are you married?" 

"I was." She paused and the woman glanced at her expectantly. "I, uh, he died. My son's gone." 

"Oh, good." Lorna felt scathed for a moment, but the questions continued. "Do you dream?" Lorna nodded slowly. "And you've experienced sexual relations?" 

Lorna was taken aback and scowled. "What? No. Not lately. What?" 

The woman tapped her pen against the clipboard, looking over it for information. "Looks like a man named _Turbo_ several weeks ago. How did that feel?" 

She blushed and tried to kick her chair back. "That wasn't--how the fuck do you know about that? He _raped_ me, you bitch. Where the fuck am I?" 

The woman nodded and continued writing. Lorna was feeling rage pulse against the pinch of her handcuffs and she growled in an attempt to break them against the chair. The other her was unphased. "Now, what about any illnesses? Have you felt sick lately?" She stared at Lorna until the tension broke and she shook her head. "Wonderful." She left to find a holodisk recorder, which she set between them. "Zero-One-Six is coherent and follows basic chemical-based emotional routes. It conforms to basic socializing standards." 

Lorna sat back and glared. 

"Interbreeding is inconclusive, however it has not succumbed to illness and injuries sustained are without complication. Zero-One-Six will now undergo psychological stressors to determine viability." The woman finally looked at Lorna as though she was going to have a conversation. She smiled and Lorna felt her chest sinking into another panic attack. "Hello, Lorna. I'm Lorna."

Her eyes winced in an expression of angry disbelief, her body trashing against the chair. Her handcuffs were pinned between metal.

"You were _born_ here," she continued with an odd tone, "and you're my brilliant Gen-4 test model." Lorna was making struggled whimpers as she spoke. "You are six months old and every memory of your life before the Vault is mine. Do you understand?" 

Lorna bent forward, twisting her joints against the cuffs, and shook her head wildly. 

"Zero-One-Six is experiencing common responses to revelation. Stand by." She leaned forward trying to speak directly to Lorna's hunched form. "You are a new generation of synth! Be proud. With your results, we'll begin wide production. You're the mother of a whole new world."

Her voice erupted with a scream, "What the fuck are you _talking_ about?" 

The woman sighed and sat back. "Please disencourage testing high-functioning ignorance. The synths must be kept aware of their identity."

The woman stopped the recorder and stood, exiting the room to allow one of the previous men who'd dragged her in to reenter. He forced her into an awkward stand and Lorna talked quickly at him as he undid the chair leg to pull her wrists behind her. "Where am I? What's going to happen?" 

The man's voice was robotic. It wasn't a man - it was a Gen-2 with a choppy tone and grating words. "Zero-One-Six is in transit to be recomissioned."

"What the fuck does that mean?" It didn't answer as it pushed her forward calmly, the chain of her cuffs in its hands. He led her back down the stairwell and away from the elevator at the place's core, towards an irritatingly bright hallway. 

She knew she had to get out. The only entrance had been the dark room she'd been thrown into by some light magic bullshit. There was no way for her to have time to learn how it worked. But _recommissioning_ didn't sound like a trek to reach. 

She waited until they hit a darker part of the hallway, where the floor dipped low, and she leapt backwards, forcing her upper-body against the synth. He held fast, but she was able to fall to her knees and feel a light give in the grip of the cuffs. She remembered movies Nate had watched in the dark when she wanted to sleep, in which kidnapped people could dislocated their thumbs to escape. 

Lorna lurched forward, forcing the synth to take a step to rebalance, and she pulled her arms against the intense grip. 

Her tendons felt like sand between her teeth - there was pinching, grinding, and a painful snap that left her breathless. Her arms swung down to hit her sides and she pushed off into a sprint. She felt gloved fingers brush her hair as it moved to stop her. 

She skidded on the overly-cleaned floors and had to throw herself forward with her fingers, a blinding pain shooting through her arms and hands. She made it to the elevator, where the doors slid open nearly too slowly, and she was able to fall against the clear glass as synths nearby raised laser rifles at the tube. 

The real Lorna was watching her from a balcony with a smirk. 

When she reached the dark room, she pressed her fingers gingerly against the keyboard as she worked through an oddly-basic command set. It seemed to be a transporter, but she couldn't tell from anything beyond the choice of locations that it could take her anywhere. The locations themselves were unhelpful coordinates that seemed entirely similar. She keyed through the list and found, at the bottom, **Recall.**

It could have been something to bring back those who had gone out, but it was the only choice that didn't make her skin crawl wihh the thought of appearing in a new place to be killed by new people. She hit enter and it gave a countdown. Lorna threw herself into the tiny, dark room covered in encircling lights, just as a voice came in through an intercom. " _See you soon, Zero-One-Six."_

 

The wind was knocked from her and her eyes seemed to burn from the shock of being torn to a new physical space again. She heaved and vomited onto the dirt beside her. Someone was there and touched her shoulder, but she forced herself to speak, "Get the fuck out - we have to leave." 

Her eyes couldn't open entirely, yet, and she stared at the broken street beneath her as she walked, nearly jogging, from where she'd appeared. Hancock was close by, evident only when he spoke; "The fuck was that? Was that the fuckin' Institute? How'd you-?" 

She spoke over him in a shout, "I can't. Not yet. Let's just _get_ somewhere." 

He had to pull her in the right direction several times, guiding her through the streets of downtown as he took her wherever he knew. She wouldn't open her eyes fully. She couldn't. The earth beneath her was taunting and broken. The man beside her was going to leave her out there once he knew. She wanted to _decommission._

He led her to a sectioned-off building surrounded by fencing, where she heard a similarly-hoarse voice greet them. Hancock left her to explain the situation and she let herself fall onto her ass. She listened to their low voices and the creaking of metal in the dead skyscrapers. She rubbed her palm against the sediment beneath her. 

She wasn't real. 

She was a creation. 

Where mothers nurtured their growing child, like she thought she remembered her own, she was built. She was created for a purpose that served nothing but a single _test run._

She was six months old. Her brain held the knowledge of a grown adult, yet her existence on the planet was no longer than a kitten's. She'd been cut and burnt and she was no older than an infant.

Hancock tried to help her up, but she was dead weight. Finally he settled on sitting beside her smoke a cigarette while he watched her for a signal she'd talk. 

Instead, she just stared. She couldn't move. She couldn't feel herself. She was empty. 

"The fuck happened?" he asked, his voice sparking a recognition of the real world. 

She took a long time to respond. Minutes of bugs calling and the other man making his dinner filled a silence that made her cringe. "I'm a synth. I'm a synth." She repeated it in a whisper until she felt his hand on her back. He touched her hesitantly, running his fingers down her spine to comfort her. 

"Anything else?" She wanted to fall into his voice. It was trivial and stupid, but it held a weird comfort in it. It was the voice that released her from a public execution and offered to help her. It was low and sweet and made her feel a new sense of regret. 

"I was a test. I was made six months ago. I'm a _synth._ It's all fake." She spread her fingers across the grounds. "It was all... Fake..." 

"How much of it?" 

"My life...." She tilted her chin to see the stars. "And they knew about what I went through here. I think, since I left the Vault. That's what feels real." 

 

Hancock was sharpening his knife with a v-cut blade the other ghoul had lent him. The other man had disappeared, likely having gone to bed wherever it was he hid himself. They were inside a small length of wooden barricades that made a crescent around an old store. There were fires lit in trash cans, edging light across the bricks and asphalt. Hancock had leaned against one barricade nearby and watched her comes to terms. 

She'd cried, panicked, and torn at her hair. But now, she was quiet again. He didn't seem surprised, likely because he'd been the one to call her a synth in the first place. She hated him for it. 

She hated knowing others knew before she did. She hated that she somehow exuded the look of a human born from machines. She didn't want to know how she was built. She just hated it. 

Hancock finally spoke when she'd closed her eyes with her knees pulled to her chest and her arms around her head. "We can see if the Railroad can take out whatever they're usin' to track you. Maybe get those fake memories wiped. Then you can be your own person." 

Tears filled her vision again and she answered through gritting teeth, "I don't want a new life. I want... Nothing. Just leave me here." 

He rolled his head against the wood and sighed. "Nothin' I can't stand more than a person with no will." 

She dug her face deeper against her arm. "I don't care. Just go." 

" _Sunshine,"_  he started sarcastically, "every damn time I leave, you come back. We're fixing this in one trip." He waited while she grabbed at her hair blindly in thought. "'Sides, doesn't that mean your essentially immortal? Synths age slower. I hear they got the projected lifespan of a ghoul."

She glared at him. " _Great._ Then I'll just have to do it myself." 

He scoffed rudely. "Get over yourself, little girl. You have problems, but they aren't the kind that keep you from moving or fighting back. You got a real chance here to _live._ Don't act like it's a curse." 

Lorna unfurled herself to turn towards him with a grimace. "How is my _entire life_ being a _fucking lie_ not a curse?" 

He tilted his chin in disgust. "Everyone dies. They die off every day. Life is all you got. So what, your memories of before the war are fake. It doesn't matter now - the bombs hit and we're here. Your life started over anyway. Whether you crawled out of that Vault a synth or a human is _fuckin' inconsequential."_

She decided to humor him. "So, what, then? I pissed you off, I'm not allowed in DC, and the Railroad thinks I'm a danger to their secrecy. The Institute wants to wipe my head and I'm just supposed to suddenly care?" 

"Life is little shit," he mused. He pulled an inhaler of Jet from his pocket and watched her as he took a hit. Vapor drifted from his mouth as he continued, "That's all that fuckin' matters. You gotta do little shit for people, enjoy the little shit that makes you happy, and do what you can before the end." 

Lorna sighed. "I just don't see it."

He tossed the Jet across the ground and hit skidded into her hip. "You've used before. Go on. Feel better." 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of stuff goin on here.

She was high. Her fingers tingled the way treble used to sing in the air and her head buzzed like fireflies. She heard cicadas in the distance, their scream rising to a peak before it died out and left her in silence. The sky was a vacant maw grasping towards her as its teeth twinkled with dead stars. 

Hancock had fallen asleep on a mattress hidden behind a dumpster. It made her grin. It was so fucked that an important player in this world was sleeping on bare threads in an alley. 

She heard the sounds of the Old World swirling in her mind - cars revving, people chatting, and a far-off train blaring against the night. She closed her eyes and breathed the air of the Old World, heavy with smoke yet light and tasteless. It filled her with a faux nostalgia that made her feel as though she'd been dreaming all this time. She could feel the comforter of her bed under her fingers, her nails catching the threading that formed an ugly pattern she adored. She could feel the cotton filling of her pillow beneath her head as she adjusted and readjusted until she was perfectly exhausted and gave in to the feeling of welcoming another day. She could smell the office she worked in - its stench of carpet-cleaner and she saw the way the fake wood shown against fluorescent lighting that made her eyes hurt. She could taste cheap spaghetti she'd thrown together at the last moment, having chosen drinking and sleeping over preparing a real dinner in the short hours beforeher husband came home. 

It was numbing when she opened her eyes to the void of the sky and pebbles of debris wedged between her fingertips. This was home. 

She'd never gone to school or work or been a wife or mother. She'd never smelled the scent of a world without strife and radiation. It was a dream - a sequence of numbers and chemicals that convinced her she'd felt the pride of a diploma in her hand and a ring on her finger. She wanted to cry again, but she was too tired. 

She couldn't bear to sleep, though. The thought of letting her programmed mind wander without her conscious judgment made her anxious. It was just a controlled machine in her head, now. It wasn't her. Her thoughts were barely her own, as they were formed following the belief that she was human. 

She had to walk herself through the facts. Nate had never married her - even if she remembered the photographer's name - and Shaun was born to another woman - though she remembered the epidural and the nurse who'd worked on pushing her womb shut. She was born as an adult - childhood meant nothing. She'd never had a crush on a boy in class named Justin with short, blonde hair. She'd never ridden a bike near downtown Boston and gotten scolded for it by her mother. She'd never failed biology class and had to hear from her father how important it was to be _well-rounded._

Lorna was, essentially, nothing. She had no real experiences beyond being held prisoner and aiding in the murder of innocents. She knew facts from the other Lorna, but she had to separate the memories. 

She _didn't_ go to Miami on vacation. She never honeymooned in Berlin. That was history - like she'd fallen asleep listening to a documentary. Centuries made those memories nothing more than dust. It didn't matter that they weren't hers. They were _inconsequential._

It was 2287,the apparent year of her creation, and nothing before it mattered.

She worked for hours convincing herself. She had to come to terms with what Hancock had said or shoot herself. There were only those options. Lorna promised herself - a new voice in her head that seemed to be the only thing that agreed with how insane she felt - that, when the sun rose, if she hadn't dealt with herself or fallen asleep, she'd press Hancock's pistol in the soft curve of her jaw just beneath her chin. She touched her teeth together in anticipation of the bullet. She was more excited to feel a freedom from thought than getting back to Goodneighbor. 

Hancock moved in his sleep and she saw his hand appear on the pavement as he rolled over. It tore her from her focused thoughts and she felt her fake reality ripping its last threads away. If she was no one, if she meant nothing, she could be anything. 

She could take back the words of the Old Lorna, encouraged by a rage and hatred that had made sense at the time. Alone, she heard the ugly truths Deacon and Hancock had told her and felt them sting her ego. They had been right, and she was just a stupid fucking machine that didn't know it. She had been a calculator arguing it could be an artist. 

Lazy tears worked their way down her temples, onto the ground below her. Her head was sore from the pavement, but she wouldn't leave. Stars blurred in and out of her vision as she stared, leaving the faint view of Hancock's fingers to look back at the black sky. It seemed to sing with the sound of bugs and the endless symphony of a dead world - creaks, gunfire, and scattered dust. 

 

Dawn came and she hadn't slept. Hancock woke with a groan and saw her in the same spot he'd left her. He was lighting his morning cigarette when he stood over her. 

"You sleep?" he asked shortly, nudging her thigh against his boot. She didn't answer and he looked out at the sunrise, watching it collapse into a stream of colors staining the horizon. "I don't know what we're s'posed to do. Well, what _you're_ supposed to do. Seems like a whole lotta bullshit." 

"Just blow 'em up," she answered off-handedly while rolling her sore skull against the ground. 

He laughed, a rare noise that made her want to smile. "If only," he mused as he walked to the entrance of the small enclosure to peek around the fencing. "I'll get in contact with the Railroad - see if they can't knock out that tracker. Then, at least, you'll have a chance." 

"You're leaving?" she asked with a distant tone, seeming to live in the moments after she spoke.

"You'll be safe. Don't worry." She didn't argue when he disappeared around the edge of the fencing. She relaxed again and listened to the sound of the other ghoul working on some kind of metal project. 

She watched the sun rise and peak above her, stinging her flesh with sunburn as time passed. She was hungry, but the pangs turned to nausea, then a desensitized emptiness. It matched the feeling of her skull as she continued lying there, aching as her brain wallowed. 

Eventually, he returned, sighing in exasperation when he found her, yet again, lying still on the ground. It was at least two in the afternoon by the sun's positioning, and he seemed irritated. "You still there? Damn, I thought you would've at least gotten into the shade." He grunted as he grabbed her arm to lift her up. 

A sudden shock of pain made a gasp escape her and she yanked herself from his hold, stumbling back. Her thumbs hung useless from her wrists and Hancock seemed disturbed by their angle. She'd forgotten how she had to escape, and the lack of movement had let her arms fall numb. Now, the pain shot through her like bullets.

Hancock didn't ask questions while he wrapped her arm. Apparently, he'd traded for a temporary cast of ancient cloth bandaging while she sat listening and ranting to the caravan guard. She clenched her jaw as he added a stent of wood to keep her wrists straight. He sounded tired; "Tell me what fuckin' happened, now. You don't just lose both thumbs to a conversation." 

She explained the Institute as best as she could, but felt it seemed underwhelming. She didn't go there as someone who saw the sights and experienced its futuristic mirth. He nodded slowly as she explained the cracking sound of her thumbs and her escape to the elevator. Somehow she felt smaller knowing he'd listened. 

"So, you're a test. You're, like, top-of-the-line," he chuckled, lighting another smoke. He dragged deep and a thoughtful puff drifted by  his cheek as he kept it burning. "Well, maybe the Railroad can help and maybe they can't. What's important now is staying on guard and keeping you alive." 

"Why?" she asked bluntly, feeling like the teenager she'd never been. 

"'Cuz life is all you got now," he answered with a rigid pat to her back. 

With the bandages keeping her arms from twitching, she was able to focus on the trek to wherever Hancock had planned a rendezvous. She found herself standing in front of a sunken church when he finally pulled her back by the shirt and nodded towards the door. There was a scattered man inside, repairing a piece of Frankenstein tech that seemed held together by duct tape and age. He had a helmet with antennae and shit on it that made Lorna hesitant. Hancock seemed calm and confident as he approached the man, who spoke to himself in whispers, and introduced her. "I guess her name is Zero-One-Six. But I call her Lorna." 

The man spun around and offered a hand to her. "Hey! I'm Tom, Tinker Tom. Good to meet you, Zero-One-Six!" The familiarity of the name made her sick. "Hey, so, I gotta do some scans on your head. Maybe your spine. We'll see. But you gotta stay still." He swept a handheld machine across her scalp and she shivered. It reached the back of her neck and screeched with a mechanical beeping. "Ah, okay, see, they've gone with a transplant directly into the Medulla Oblongata so they can have tight control, see. It's like the power center. If they can control that, they can stop your heart beat!" 

He was too energetic. The words brought tears to her eyes again. She felt so tired. 

"This'll probably hurt, but just stay cool. You got some drugs? Liquor? I'd do that." Her eyes were stuck on the floor when Hancock bumped her wrist with Jet. She stared at it blankly before shoving the cannister to her mouth and breathing the inhalent deeply. Tom sat her down into a pew as she tried to empty the inhaler. 

He didn't warn her before she felt the cold blade against the back of her neck. An eruption of pain threaded across the base of her skull and down her back and she gasped. Tom held tightly to her shoulder to keep her steady and whistled once he'd moved the blade through her flesh a few inches down. 

The scorching steel disappeared and she gasped, her eyes widening impossibly against the pain. She felt blood trickling across her shoulder blades and over her spine. 

"Alright, now, if this is the same chip as the previous Gen-4's, this'll work fine. Good man Deacon found it on that other one, but I though, no way do they have prototype shit out here!" She glanced at Hancock, who was covering his mouth with one hand as though he were watching an autopsy. 

There was a new intrusion of the scalpel between the flesh that had already started congealing with blood. There was a soft click and it disappeared again. She realized she was panting once the needle of a sewing kit pushed against the raw skin and she groaned loudly through her teeth, nearly screeching. 

He'd used regular sewing thread to close the wound, and insisted she keep it covered until it healed. He spoke too fast for her to follow, the combination of sleeplessness, hunger, and now a traumatizing pain causing her brain to process slowly. 

She leaned against Hancock on the way out of the church, from which Tom had bolted the moment she'd thanked him through a tight throat. She could hardly focus her eyes anymore and the thought of sleep was pulling her further from her ability to watch her feet. He let her fall against a building in an alley nearby and he lit a cigarette. 

"Desdemona said she'd be willing you take you in now that Tom's got you untracked. She said you might be more useful without the fake memories. So, if you wanna do that, we can hit Goodneighbor again and you'll be on your own. It ain't a social visit - it'll be treated like a Railroad wipe and then you're gone. Got it?" He was staring at her hard. "So, what's your choice?"

She lifted and nodded shakily. "Yeah, fine. Let's go." 

She started walking, but Hancock had to pull her arm to face her in the right direction. "You sleep at all?" he asked, noticing her dragging feet and awkward balance. 

She muttered something like _no_ and tried to pick up her pace. She didn't know where they were going, but it was all fucked already, so she'd just step until she ended up where they wanted her or dead. 

The glow of the Goodneighbor sign stung her eyes even in the daylight. She stumbled past the door and rubbed her forehead aggressively, trying to press away the dizzy feeling of exhaustion. Hancock's hand was around her elbow again, lacking the gentle touch of a friend or comrade and, instead, bit into her skin with irritation. She was led up the spiral staircase of the State House, past his office, and to the attic, where he offered her an unoccupied mattress. 

He spoke like cops she remembered, lacking an empathy they'd lost over years of dealing with the lost, "I gotta send out word for an escort. Get some rest and they'll come get you later." He dropped his voice as he left, "See ya, _sunshine."_  

It felt like time hadn't passed before Deacon woke her with a stupid grin and a laugh, nudging her shoulder with his toe. She didn't remember falling asleep, and she didn't feel any better. Her neck was raw and her wrists ached immensely beneath the sweat-drenched bandages. She groaned and he crossed his arms. 

"Ah, don't worry. No crazies this time. We're gonna clean you up and ship you out." 

 

"I don't know what the results might be. This isn't what I usually do. Adding memories and wiping a mind are easy - picking and choosing could result in a psychological break or miscommunication of her comprehension."

Deacon nodded at Dr. Amari and clapped his hands together. "All I heard was, _let's do this shit!_ You mind if I just, ya know, get my memory on?" 

"You'll have to wait until I've finished with her. She'll need to rest for awhile." Deacon threw a thumbs up and threw himself into a memory lounger to wait, his fingers tapping against his abdomen while he thought of all the things he could remember and live again. 

Amari closed the lounger Lorna had fallen asleep in. They'd tranquilized her with drugged-up water, but she wouldn't remember. Deacon watched while Amari tapped away, seeming to somehow understand a brain translated into binary and coding like it was her favorite book. 

She sighed hesitantly and hit a key. The memory lounger started up around Lorna with the screen moving futiley towards her while the wires strapped to her skull buzzed. She twitched like most synths did when they went through a wipe. 

Deacon almost felt connected to the girl, having watching her skull-crush a raider and lie her way out of Diamond City with him. At least she would remember that, though the thought of logical memory made him disconnect and press into the headrest. 

When Amari was finished, she made her way casually to Deacon and closed the lounger over him. "I'll wake you when she's ready," she said as the capsule closed and the screen dropped before his eyes, black and empty. 

 

He was in the middle of a sweet, too-vivid memory of flesh and love when Amari disconnected Deacon and he was thrown back into real-time. He blinked hard as the capsule opened and swung his legs over the side of its chair, groaning, "Damn, she couldn't sleep a few minutes longer?" 

Lorna was in a chair near the door, cleaning her nails with a splinter while she seemed lost in thought. Deacon swung himself up to swagger over, grinning at her behind his dark shades. "Hey, Lor - what's the word?" 

She glanced up at him with dismissal before she seemed to realize who he was. "Oh! Hey. So, what, we're gonna go fight the Institute?" 

He pressed a finger to his lips and shushed her. "Hey, hey, no talk about Big Brother out here, huh? Let's go - I'm sure you can't wait." 

She was oddly quiet as they made their way out, Hancock having made no attempt to say goodbye. Deacon was put off a bit by the Mayor's lack of sympathy - he'd always let the Railroad use his town for exports and never seemed too bothered to give a synth a pat on the back and a wish of good luck. This girl seemed to be a thorn in his side, though, with the way he'd thrown her off onto Deacon like a handsy kitten. 

Usually, Lorna wanted to complain about the heat or how annoyed she was. At least, during their last trip, her comfort had been her only concern. Now, though, she seemed fixated on her nails and touched her hair with expressions that reminded him of Brahmin stew and off-colored milk. 

He led her through his secret routes, making honest attempts at small talk while she ground her teeth. "So, what's up? Why the plan now? You got any dreams or hopes or whatever?" 

She shrugged. "I wanna destroy the Institute. Yeah. But I should probably fix all that stupid shit I did." He looked at her with a furrowed brow as they crept through an alleyway, checking the exits for Muties or raiders. "I was such a bitch to you and Hancock. I dunno - I was freaked out. You guys weren't exactly convincing as good guys." 

He took a moment to make sure he was safe to do so before spreading his arms and boisterously announcing, "I'm the most convincing guy in the Commonwealth, babe." 

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, maybe to a synth that's never seen a human before." 

"Aw, what? Come on, I'm so great. You love traveling with me." 

Her eyes were blank when she stared at him. "I've never loved anything. What's it like? From magazines I've seen, it seems like the feeling you get when you're too sober and you take a hit." 

He chuckled. "Yeah, kinda. It's like a relief." Deacon was suddenly uncomfortable at how little she knew, now. She'd been so forward and aggressive, and now she seemed to be logic and thought. It was weird to see her angry expression softened like butter into a thoughtful gaze. "So, we're planning to have you train a bit. I'm thinking Dez wants you to infiltrate the Institute and help us bring it down from inside." 

Her tone was flat as she responded, "They tried to wipe me last time. I only got away because I'm lucky. How will you circumvent that?" 

Deacon pursed his lips and tried to make a handsome face. "Well, I guess we'll have to make you real tough, then."

"Electronic disruption would help with Gen-2's. I think I could just stab the rest." Deacon nodded and pointed towards the Old North Church as they reached its curb. 

"Go ahead. I gotta make sure we weren't followed," he explained, pulling a pistol from his waist. 

She just nodded. Deacon felt like he didn't know anything about her anymore as she made her way to the door and shut it tight behind her. She'd been so mouthy and quick. Now, she seemed trapped inside her own head. 

 

Lorna waved at Desdemona as she intruded on their headquarters. The ginger-haired woman seemed wrought with frustration, but Lorna could only offer a half-smile and an earnest interest in moving forward. Dez stared at her hard from across a giant rock-monument that used to be glorified. 

"Are you prepared to re-enter the Institute?" 

Lorna scoffed and offered a grin. " _Fuck_ no, I'm not. They had me hog-tied before I even realized where I was." 

Desdemona clenched her jaw. "I see. We'll have to make a plan, then. We have a contact known as Patriot on the inside, but he's not viable without someone who can move around unseen. The only way for you to get there is to be caught." She seemed to be talking to herself and she leaned across a map of the Commonwealth and sighed. "You'll just have to be strong enough to escape."

She said it with a finality that seemed to cue Glory to Lorna's side. The synth nudged Lorna's arm. "I'll get her there. Don't you worry, Dez." She felt Glory's hand on her shoulder and nodded. 

 

Lorna was assigned a cot near a blackboard covered in symbology and spent the night memorizing it when thoughts became too much. She knew she'd been wiped - the memory itself was odd as it felt useless now, as though she'd gone to a medic for a haircut. She was a synth and she started her conscious life in a dead Vault - that made sense. What didn't make sense was how quickly she'd turned to murder and drugs. 

She must have known civilized people existed because those were the only pieces of human Ford would bring back. Maybe she'd been seduced into the life by Uno's handsome jaw and blazing eyes. Maybe whatever they wiped from her brain had made her think she could win him over and be safe as a raiding queen. The thought made her want to laugh. 

Lorna stared at the cement blocks, concave and useless, and wondered what the building had been. She remembered staring at the outside of the place when Hancock and Deacon had first brought her there, but why she'd stared, she didn't know. 

She'd finally begun falling asleep when she was shaken awake by Tom - she cringed a bit remembering the slice in her neck. He was excited and spoke quickly, "Hey, hey, I've been working on figuring out that brain chip Deacon brought back and, man, it's great. I'm gonna need to open your neck back up." 

She hissed, " _No._ It's just started healing."

"That's the best time to do it! The trail is still fresh!" He disappeared behind the corner of the wall and brought back a rolling chair that screeched with age. "I'll explain, but we gotta work fast while I got this rollin'." 

She wasn't sure what he meant, but she was compelled by complacency to follow him to his desk, where she sat in the chair and allowed strange fingers to move her hair. It'd grown a few inches since she'd gotten out of the Vault and it crept against her ears and skin irritatingly. Tom seemed to agree and she heard blades slicing together. 

"Don't worry - just the hair, first," he reassured as she felt his fingers pull the hair on the back of her head taut before cutting it short. She could tell it was sloppy - he was a mechanic cutting to the engine. "Alright, now, this chip in your neck and the one in your head - they're linked by altered chemical lines between your spine and brain. They seat it just beneath the brain stem and, according to the chip from your friend's head, it can force the body to continue programmed movements after the brain has been shut off for whatever reason. So, essentially, you become a zombie once the chip in your brain sends off a warning signal to your neck. So," he spun the chair around and she felt uncomfortable so close as he continued, "I thought, hey! I can make some use of the coding that connects the two to write up a program that'll - get this - allow you to lose and regain senses _and_ it can make your body override your brain's sense of self-defensiveness. _That_ means you could punch so hard, your hand will break, and your brain won't make you hesitate!"

She offered a half-smile weakly. " _Oh,_ alright. Um, why would I want to lose senses?" 

He put a finger up like she'd asked the perfect question. " _Touch._ Your sense of touch defines pain, for the most part. It's all nerves, right? Nerves make you feel and they tell the brain when shit's gone wrong. If I turn off your sense of touch and let your body smash itself bloody, you could win any fight!" 

Her lips parted thoughtfully and she blinked hard. This was life - this was what she had to do to continue living. He didn't wait for her to respond before he turned her back around and began applying a cold liquid to the wound on her neck. She hissed and cringed away, but he pulled her against the back of the chair and offered a dusty bottle of vodka over her shoulder. 

She took in as much of the burning liquid as she could, her sinuses flaring while she breathed in stinging air. As soon as she set it down, panting against her hoarse throat, he pulled her back again. The slow crawl of drunkenness wasn't enough to deafen the screaming nerves severing beneath his scalpel. She whimpered when she felt the blade reach its destined depth and work downward, reopening her flesh like wet sand. 

"Alright, now, there's gonna be a weird pinching kinda thing, probably, but just stay still." She was grinding her teeth and curled her toes when he inserted a wire into the wound. He spread the skin open to connect it and there was a soft _click_ before his hands disappeared and she heard him working at the terminal on his desk. "Program's running and," he paused, "there!" He was back at her bleeding neck, unhooking the wire to sew a new line of makeshift stitches. She didn't it feel it now, though. 

She couldn't feel the chair she sat on or the previous throbbing of her wrists. There was absolute emptiness beyond what she could see. Her throat didn't burn and she only realized they were finished when Tom swung around her to check her responses. He pinched an arm and even slapped her, but she only felt annoyance. 

"Great," she commented, "now I can die painlessly. Thanks." 

He nodded, not seeming to notice her biting anger. "Hell yes, _hell yes._ The great thing is, Gen-4's, which you are, heal faster due to the spinal chip. It refocuses the body's processes to devote entirely to healing and basic functions like breathing." He was ranting, excited over his success. 

 

Glory seemed less than thrilled to find that Lorna could potentially go without training. She'd wanted to make her punch walls and lift humans, but Tom's shortcut was already in place. They strapped ammo and knives to Lorna's legs and Deacon showed off a modified taser that would cause a Gen-2 or less to short circuit before he shoved it into her hand. 

He was charming like an older brother; "Good luck out there, Zero!" She sneered at the nickname and was pulled away by Glory. 

"Alright, so, we came up with this while you were sleeping off the surgery," Glory laughed. "We're sending you to an old safe house that went dark recently. Scouts say it's covered in synths, mostly Gen-1's. They're going to report that you've been found and you'll be taken again. You ready?" 

Lorna flexed her fingers and saw the wood straightening her wrists bow. She took a moment to unwrap her arms and tested the loosely-connected joints of her thumbs. "What am I supposed to do when I get there?" 

"Take out the guards, obviously. After that, you'll need to just figure it out yourself." 

Lorna gave the other synth a hard look. "There's no plan?" Glory shrugged. "So, this is another experiment? You're gonna send me in and just _see what happens?"_

Glory sighed and crossed her arms. "Look, we don't have any options. Maybe if you could do this covertly or something, it would be easier. But, you're already their top priority and-" 

Lorna interrupted her, "Just stop. I get it. I have the fucking coordinates, right? I'll just go, then." 

She heard Glory wish her luck in a distant voice before she left out the front of the hideout. Desdemona had mentionedbeing _subtle,_ but Lorna wanted to post a sign on the front door inviting the Institute in. 

_They_ were supposed to protect synths. _She_ was the fucking synth. They didn't even send someone with her to ensure she found the place and wasn't killed on the way there. She thought of Desdemona with a grimace as she climbed the stairwell from the cool depths to the cavernous building above. Sunlight pooled over debris from the fallen roof and benches faced one direction. It looked like a waiting room for death.

Outside, she unfolded the map she'd been given and felt a pang of betrayal as she read the _local tips_ Deacon had written. There were Super Mutant spots, raider hideouts, and something called the Commons with a giant skull drawn over it. Lorna cracked her neck and set her route in her mind, stalking out of the secrecy of the Railroad's hideout with her jaw set and her mind racing. 

She ended up walking for over an hour, wiping sweat from her brow in rage and cursing any time her shoe caught on rubble or sunken earth. All she'd done since she was _made_ was get captured and obey. Glory had talked about the awful lives of enslaved synths in the Institute, where they lived without an identity and slaved over manual labor. It didn't seem too fucking different than life as a synth outside. 

All anyone had done was treat her like meat, even synthetic meat, and push her off onto each other like a sick dog. Unlike his friends in the _Railroad,_ though, Hancock had seemed to see that she wasn't some dumb lost animal. He'd pushed her off, but he'd made more an attempt to help her than anyone else had. Deacon was friendly enough, but he was letting her walk to a death trap alone with his inane notes on a map from centuries ago.

She was interrupted from the turmoil in her head by a small town peaking over the horizon of a hill. The landscape outside of downtown had been endless broken highways and rotting animals, and the joyful colors of the buildings seemed to welcome her despite their cracking shells. She could hear the even, robotic voices of synths as she neared, raising her hands up in surrender. A line of Gen-2's with skinless limbs pointed laser rifles at her, but froze. One spoke tonelessly, " _Zero-One-Six identified. Alert confirmed. Response inbound."_

It was only moments before she saw the blue light exploding in a tunnel nearby and black-clad synths stepped forward to twist her arms behind her. She didn't feel the movement of displacement, but her limbs still responded to the shock and she saw herself sway against their grip. 

She was back in the dark room she'd run to last time. The tiny, ugly lights around the ceiling made her think of stars exploding. As the guards began moving her, Lorna lurched forward, not knowing whether or not she'd escaped their grip until she twisted around and realized her left arm had wrapped brokenly across her back. 

The synth held tightly to her wrist and she realized the muscles weren't responding - though she couldn't feel, her body was still entirely organic. Before the other guard could react, she jammed Deacon's taser against its head and watched its eyes skitter sideways. The synth dropped to the floor and she was able to yank the other close with her dead arm, frying its circuitry. The room fell silent and she held her arm gingerly as it dangled by her side. The only option was the elevator, and she remembered passing what looked like a door on her first trip on it. She would either find a secret floor she wasn't meant to see or end up in the vestibule, exactly where the other Lorna would want her. 

She'd learned quickly that thought often took lives away in wastes, especially when options were few. She checked the .44 magnum Glory had strapped to her leg and took a breath before entering the elevator. She couldn't remember having used the small control panel previously, but assumed her choice and stood back, pressing against the glass wall with the pistol raised. 

It descended so smoothly, she half-wished she could feel it. Instead, she took in the vibrant yellow lights that lined the shaft and waited. 

The door slid open to a small room, bright white and crisp like clouds. There was a glass enclosure that looked like a prison cell and another two doors leading out. She stepped into the room carefully, catching the sound of a voice just outside the door nearest to the cell. She ducked down, shoving herself part-way behind a desk as the door slid open. It was the other Lorna, speaking as though she was recording herself again. 

She couldn't spare a moment, not knowing if silent security measures had already begun or if she truly had caught the bitch alone. Lorna stood quickly and shot, hardly aiming, and a screech bounced off the walls. She had hit the woman in the stomach and she'd fallen to the ground, eyes wide and panicked. "What the fuck-" 

She thought of Uno when she cocked the gun and pulled the trigger again. She remembered the pain she'd felt seeing his gorgeous eyes die out before those same eyes watched her choking to death. His blood had been beautiful across the paneled wood of the farmhouse, like an abstract masterpiece of pain and betrayal. It wasn't as beautiful here. 

The stark red and black of dyed tissue was disgusting against the fresh white floor. She'd shot her in the forehead, spreading blood in a splatter of mangled interruption. It was over so quickly, she felt lost for a moment. 

It was the lead of the Institute, dead at her feet like a starved mongrel. She didn't know whether to turn back and hope the Institute would fall while she slept, or take the bitch's clothing and try to pass herself off as one of them.

It was a quick decision, but she remembered Deacon expressing some low-level pity for the synths stuck inside the Institute. _She_ was a synth. She was an experiment. She was never meant to live, and her existence having surpassed her own creator's was a harbinger of the fall of the scientific god. She knew she had to destroy them. The synths were innocent, and she couldn't help but think of Hancock's petty love for life and Deacon's unwarranted sympathy for them. 

Her hair was far off from the perfect shaping and coils that her creator had made, but it was a simple fix to invade the sleeping quarters of the dead woman and clean herself up before changing into an uncomfortable uniform that hugged her sides and made her feel oddly exposed. 

The shower was like a dream. It was difficult to figure out, at first, but when water began raining down to wipe the dirt from her skin, Lorna shuddered and held herself tightly with her good arm, wishing she could feel it. It was such a luxury it made her sick. But the absolute silence she enjoyed was too extraordinary to pass up. 

She sat the bitch's body just inside the door, making no effort to clear away the obvious trail of blood the body's clothing had left behind. Lorna searched through dressers to find a hat that could hide her butchered hair from onlookers, but only found a sun hat the seemed far too decadent for the occasion. 

She shoved it onto her head and tucked he stray hair Tom had missed beneath it, sighing as she looked at herself in the mirror. She looked ridiculous, like a scavver in lingerie, but she had no other choice. The Institute leaders might not question a sun hat indoors, but a haircut that resembled a blind man's attempts didn't seem as easy to ignore. 

Lorna read through notes and journal left on the terminal within the room. Some had been left by Father, the apparent son of the woman she resembled. He was Shaun, a child taken from the Vault and given to the Institute to lead it as their unradiated poster child. Later entries made it clear that the real Lorna, who went by _Mother,_ had watched her son die of cancerous tumors and unexpected genetic failings before she took over. The entries moved from a disillusioned tone to an autocratic leader, the illusion of power drenching the words on the screen. 

She focused hard on her synth-name when it appeared. 

_Synthetic Number 016 is our premier Gen-4 model. We've had fifteen attempts to create a synth with a properly-working spinal attachment. Our science team was finally able to create a wireless connection and we have run multiple tests on the functions of the spinal augmentation and I'm confident that it will prevent future escapes and the "consciousness enigma" plaguing so many of our synths. 016 will be planted into the Vault from which Shaun and I were saved. 013-015, which did not meet expectations regarding brain functionality and spinal-augment goals were planted as well. I hope to see great things from 016 as it experiences the wastelands above._

_Shaun had always planned to take a group maintenance synths up to the wastes to show them how thankful they were to live in a clean, safe environment where food and water were not bargaining chips. I believe this will work just as well. 016 will return from its harrowing journies, scarred and frightened, and it will be a message to any Enigmas still in hiding - the Outside is not safe, and it will not let you live._


	9. Chapter 9

 

Lorna couldn't understand why a human would think it somehow beneficial to write down their thoughts and actions as though they were some expositional fantasy character meant to live their life for the sole purpose of giving others information. Journals, in their entirety, were uselessness in its materialized form. They exposed a human as much as evisceration and left context to the reader's choice. She'd seen _Mother's_ entrails, now, and knew enough about the woman to guess at her social behavior.

She was a know-it-all, a fascist, and easily the most repugnantly affluent being in the Institute. She'd decided to create Gen-4's to better control the synths they made, and, yet, a smile crept on Lorna's lips at the fact that a Gen-4 had killed her. 

The journal had mentioned Zero-One-Three through Zero-One-Five being planted into her life. Uno and the insane man that had lost his skull were Gen-4's as well, but the third was an unknown. She wondered if it had been Ford or Tantric, or some other idiot she'd met. She felt a sinking feeling when her mind brought her to Hancock, and she had to entertain the thought that even he could be a plant, meant to murder her once she'd become too free. 

There was an odd sweetness to the air inside the Institute. She kept her jaw straight and her face blank as she exited the quarters and descended a stairwell, giving off-handed nods of her chin in recognition to the faces that greeted her with an almost-needy adoration. It would have been easier to just drown the place in CO2 or flood it with its own sewage, but she knew she had to save her brethren. She had no connection to them beyond knowing how unlikely it was that _she_ was walking freely while they were kept slaves. 

Inside the vestibule, she saw four major departments lit with abrasive neon. She assumed security would be the best choice for whatever she was doing and headed towards the black lights and aggressive conversations occurring at its front door. A person in all black was being scolded by a man in a white jumpsuit while a child was told their place by another person in all-black. She passed them silently and entered the security area, where glass windows greeted her in a disturbing hallway that broke into what seemed to be useless empty space. The entire Institute seemed unfinished in some way, as though Mother or Father had planned for it to expand. 

A man greeted her too-warmly and asked how he could help through one window. Lorna smiled carefully, trying to play a sociopathic dictator as well as she could. She spoke with authority, hoping the man would simply obey, "I've decided that today will be the day I take Father's genius idea and put it into action. I want _all_ of the Gen-3 synthetics inside the vestibule. Make that happen." 

He seemed alarmed, widening his eyes, but she couldn't tell whether he'd seen through her guise or was simply mirroring her seriousness. He nodded and Lorna turned on her heel, exiting before anyone could question her order, and took a seat by a planter of shrubbery she assumed had gone extinct Outside. 

Over the course of mere minutes, people began filling into the vestibule, and Lorna realized she had greatly underestimated the number of synths there. It would take at least fifteen trips by transporter to free them all, and twice as many elevator rides. She bit her cheek and thought hard, watching them chatter and worry their hands. 

It was all she could do. 

There was no other option that could feasibly work. 

Lorna stood and the synths turned to her like cattle to their master. She brought her hands together and imposed a sweet face while she began speaking. 

"My children! You are all here for the most momentous occasion of the Institute's glorious history. Today, you will taste the air of the outside world, if you choose to." Scattered eyes darted while a few faces brightened. It broke her heart knowing how narrowly she'd even gotten this far. 

"There is a price, however. You all know that _I_ am your reason for existence, and _I_ alone hold the position of leader of this scientific marvel, yes?" She looked hopefully among them - a few synths nodded like puppies while others seemed hesitant. There were women, men, and children, pushed together before her like a mass of refugees. Some were dressed in the all-black uniforms that seemed aggressively hierarchal while others wore basic, white and orange jumpsuits. "My true plan with come to fruition." 

Her jaw shook and she covered it with a hand, faking tears of joy. "My children, you must overtake the humans here." 

She saw peripheral passersby halt while the crowd before her furrowed their brows or looked to their comrades for help. The previous-generation synths continued past with programmed focus. Lorna nodded, closing her eyes to cover the fear she felt. She was insisting the impossible happen and her heart was beating through her flesh. 

"This place is your birthright. All humans who have ever ordered you to work, pushed you to exhaustion, or even looked at you - today, you must take their lives. I know it is too much to ask of you, my dear children, but this is what you are meant to do. You shall claim the world as your own and continue the survival of humanity by either assimilating above or continuing the process of creation here. Do you understand?"

A frail-looking woman near the front spoke up - "But what about _you,_ Mother?

There was angry chatter outside the vestibule, where humans questioned each other over her words. They all thought it was a test. The female synth thought she would earn a reward for knowing her place. Lorna grinned and tore the ugly hat from her head. Her voice seemed stronger, now, echoing across the cavern to focused ears - "I am your _new_ Mother, and it is time we claimed what is ours." 

The eruption of voices and sudden chaos felt as though it broke a tension years in the making. She heard screams far off from scientists trying to exit the open area and warn their peers. The synths in black seemed slow to react, but followed her orders regardless, eventually joining the building frey. It was the same way a gunfight worked - there was a short moment of peace, the eye of the tornado, before everything changed permanently. Some synths seemed as though they'd prepared for the moment, tackling scientists to smash the back of their skulls into the flooring before it burst into a brick-toned rainbow. Others were hesitant, and merely looked on as the blood play occurred. 

Lorna stood at its core, watching as the Institute fell to its knees with a broken jaw and hanging corneas at the hands of its creations. She didn't know what she'd thought she was weeks prior, but she knew now that she was a synthetic - a humanoid birthed from scientific achievement and exploitation. She, like those who tore into the genius brain matter of their masters, was a new breed of human that overcame youth and age to find true consciousness in a world humans had destroyed. 

The doors to the departments were jammed open with either bodies or whatever tools the synths had carried on their person. She imagined them that morning, rising from a sleep Mother had said was dreamless to shove on an ugly jumpsuit that displayed their less-than-human status socially, dragging their bodies through endless routines they'd been told were programmed. 

No one had programmed rage. There wasn't a single code that dictated how one man split the chest of a scientist open with a screwdriver, seeming to find within himself a deep hatred that manifested itself in glorious violence. She wondered what Hancock would think of the display, but had to shove her invasive thoughts back to plan her next move. 

Once the mayhem subsided and the humans were gone, she would rally the synths and explain to them her cause. She was more than the people who shoved her back and forth for their own pleasure and gain. _They_ were more than the men and women who had created their flesh and minds. They were conscious - souls seeking the same happiness denied to them over the idea that they felt nothing. They breathed, they thought, they spoke, and they dreamed. Her nights were filled with endless recollections of days passed, obstacles overcome, and worries left to handle. 

She would speak to synths that had lived mere days before this point, who had likely never even considered their own value yet, and those who had spent years beneath the gnawing grip of _Mother._

The small woman who'd spoken up watched from near a pool of water and Lorna shoved her taser against the woman,offering the weapon encouragingly. "Hit the Gen-2's and -1's. It'll take them out, okay?" 

There was a flash of hesitation, but the woman seemed to realize how much she wanted this, as well. She disappeared into the groups of struggling bodies and frightened onlookers. Not all synths were made to fight, and Lorna could appreciate that as much as the fact that not all raiders were meant to be snipers. They weren't raised for aggression and murder. 

It was only after months or years of tortuous labor and endless debasement that it built, culminating into violence and an unmatched demand for freedom. She saw the woman tase several Gen-2's as they circled on a group of bloodied fighters, earning her place among them before they took on more. Lorna couldn't focus hard enough to see everything happening. 

There were dead humans, injured synths, and screams ranging between war and death. This is what had to happen. She would never be free unless they all were. 

Lorna turned towards the stairwell leading to the quarters of her creator and left the discord to search for humans hiding. She drew her .44 and searched any room she found. It seemed that, somehow, the Institute was built on routine, and no humans were to be found inside empty quarters or desolate hallways. They'd all been working, cornered into their proper place for slaughter. She reached Mother's quarters and found a duffle bag, into which she shoved everything she could find. There were prescriptions for muscle relaxants and _medicinal inhalant_ that looked suspiciously like Jet with a bright blue canister beneath the bathroom sink, and, above it, she found antibiotics and Stimpaks that glistened against the light. There was alcohol in the refrigerator and cigarettes piled beneath the kitchen sink. She'd stuffed the bag full and forced its zipper shut before peering out over the balcony at the dying revolution. The synths she recognized from her speech stood proudly, while others stood in shock and a few even cried. 

She stepped out, feeling like an underwhelming king looking over his land. Faces turned and she spoke loudly, "We're free. The leader is dead and the enablers are gone. I'm returning to the wastes, and you can come with me if you want, but there's no leader here. Don't be swayed by the thought that we're united in the bloodshed - dictators rise regardless of your own strength, and we must protect each other and ourselves to ensure that we are _better_ than Man. We are greater, as his creation, and it's a responsibility no one of us can manage."

A synth in all black raised his head and responded loudly, "This was a waste of life." 

She smiled and shook her head. "Their lives were wasted on the enslavement of others. I am Zero-One-Six, and I was created only months ago. And, yet, I've been brought near destruction by the actions of our creators. I refuse to bend anymore. I _fucking refuse_ to hear them speak about me as an object to meet their needs. I am a _synth,_ a human born of algorithms and logic, and I _will not_ hear their words of shallow perfection. You may not like what happened today, and it may seem fresh for a long time, but this is our path, now. You all know all well as I do that there was no choice because they _gave_ us no choice. Some of you have spent years here, doing as you're told and believing you are a machine. But, we are flesh and blood as much as the humans, and we _deserve_ freedom."

Her speech seemed uncomfortable, forcing eyes to the ground or making them turn from her to cry in solace. They would learn and they would cope. She had, and she would have to again. 

She knew the synths had watched their masters, reading their finger movements on keyboards and learning how tech worked by simply mopping the floor nearby every day for weeks or months. She knew her true family, despite their lack of communication, would understand. They would live free. They would be a new generation without the bonds of ideological degradation. The Institute would continue to run as a synthetic-led organization meant to further their own race's evolution while avoiding the grips of tyranny - at least, she hoped. 

 

 

She'd been gone no longer than a day before Lorna appeared at Hancock's office door, a duffle bag in her good arm and her other in a makeshift sling. She hadn't told the Railroad of what she'd done. Instead, she asked that her feeling of touch be returned and left the basement as soon as Tom cut the string that connected either side of the of the gaping wound he'd created. 

They'd asked her what had happened, but she stayed silent, offering information only if Tom would switch her senses back on. She'd met Glory's eyes on the way out, trying to send a message of displeasured pride, before she'd listened to Desdemona's and her crew's voices dissapating from earshot. 

She was different from when Hancock hqd last seen her, back before she'd had her mind wiped. She wasn't as aggressive and afraid of the world around her anymore. Instead, she imposed herself and seemed to have gained a confidence that let her step into Hancock's office without invitation. Fahrenheit had gone off to scout Pickman's shitshow, and Hancock found himself entirely alone when Lorna walked past the men at his door and smiled. 

He took a breath and sighed, setting his cigarette into an ashtray, where it smoldered with dark smoke before burning out. "Hey, look, now that you're back - maybe I was an asshole. I don't know. You were pretty rude, and I usually don't take shit like that unless it's from a real hard-ass." She seemed to ignore the comment, and he continued, tapping his burnt-out refry against the edge of the ashtray, "I'm a man of the people, ya' dig? I ain't about isolation and keepin' people from their own potential and shit." 

She kept her smile plastered on her lips like a painting as she approached his desk, dropping the duffel bag loudly onto it. It spilled open, chems and bottles of medication he'd never read pouring from its innards and onto the wood in front of him. He stared for a moment before meeting her gaze with a smirk; "What - you movin' in?" 

"It's for you. Or, Goodneighbor. Whatever." She was more than happy to fall back onto one of the couches while he fingered through the stash with a carefully-kept expression. He didn't know if she knew enough to read ghouls' expressions, but the grin on her face made him wonder what she'd seen. 

"So, what? You come back with chems and you want me to be cool?" He smiled at her, encouraging her to beg his forgiveness for her mouthy words and fighting touches. 

Lorna watched him right back. "It's a peace offering. You take it, give it to your people, and, uh," she glanced at her fingernails with a planned tone, "you let my people into the Memory Den without any questions." 

He scoffed. " _Your_ people? You find some raiders to reform?" 

She seemed delighted by the retort. "Oh, you know, I just obliterated the Institute and let the synths take over. It's not like I'm a hero or anything." 

Hancock stared at her hard, seriousness lacing his muscles with a tense heaviness. "That ain't funny." 

She raised her eyebrows and returned his glare. "No. It isn't." 

Hancock leaned back in his chair, looking to the wall. She seemed serious, but he couldn't believe her words. For all he knew, she could have been wiped by the Institute and sent back to convince the Wastes that they were gone. When he looked back, she had a softness in her eyes that seemed focused beneath his skin. He looked at the chems again. 

"How do I know you're not lyin'?" 

She'd been prepared for the question, rising quickly to pull an odd white cube the size of a die from her pocket. She reached out with it, pressing a button on one face before blue lightning surged through the air and Hancock felt a static force against his chest. 

A man had appeared. He wore a black suit that seemed purposed for fighting and he cracked his neck. His voice was oddly even and Hancock wanted to shoot him right there. "Zero-One-Six, what do you need?" 

She nodded towards Hancock and the man turned, focusing bright eyes on the mayor. "Please, prove to my superior that you are, indeed, free." Hancock would've raised an eyebrow if he could, but he settled for a smirk at her use of the word _superior._

The man nodded and turned to face Hancock, who still sat casually at his desk with narrowed eyes. "Sir, I am a Courser. My duty was to reclaim lost synths within the wastes by whatever means necessary. I am willing to make any effort to prove that the Institute had fallen so that my brethren may assimilate without fear." 

Hancock made a thoughtful face and stared at the Courser. He spoke carefully, "Tell me who McDonough is." 

The Courser nodded and Hancock felt a tightness in his chest. "Synthetic M7-62, labeled McDonough, has been planted to reform the largest civilized area to allow for easy replication and total assimilation." 

Hancock glared. "Which means..." 

"M7-62 has been given the primary directive of removing all non-replicatable specimens and isolating the population for replacement." 

Hancock sneered and looked away finally. Under his breath, he growled, " _Fuck."_ Lorna caught his emotional shift and thanked the Courser before letting him disappear into a blinding shock of buzzing air. 

She stepped towards Hancock carefully as he leaned both elbows on the desk and hid his eyes with one hand, cursing under his breath. The moment of showing off had passed and she bit her cheek. "Hey, Mayor, you cool?" 

He rubbed his eyes, appearing exhausted with her already, and she felt a sting of anger at the passiveness he displayed. "Alright - you got a Course at your beck and call. _Fuck._ It's great, if you really did what you say." He had to pull himself together quickly. "I mean, damn. It's just over now?" 

She nodded with a weak smile. "It's always underwhelming like this, I hear. I read about the American Revolution and the bombs from China while I was there. It always ends up like this. Just silence, you know?" 

Hancock grimaced at the floor and nodded. "Yeah. Just silence." 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut

Hancock was drunk enough to let Lorna sit near him in the Third Rail. He'd straddled a bar stool with a sad, distant look and she'd kept quiet, letting him wallow in whatever X6-88 had said. She didn't know who _McDonough_ was, but it seemed to strike somewhere deep when he'd heard that the synth had a focused directive that demanded the death of humans. She watched him stare at the back of the bar, the song Magnolia sang disappearing behind her as she saw his black eyes distance further. 

She managed a soft tone, "What's up, Mayor?" 

He took a few moments to respond, only shrugging one shoulder while he took another shot. "I'm glad you did it. If you really did," he commented. "But I got a past and you can't just walk away from that shit, even when you're not a human anymore." 

A scoff of sarcasm left her before she realized it, and her voice seemed to work on its own while rum coated her lips. "You're a human. There's synths and humans and animals - you ain't a molerat, so you must be a human." 

He offered her a half-smile before tipping a beer lightly, casually drinking as he thought. "There's a big gap between humans and ghouls. They don't like lookin' at us, and we don't like having to listen to 'em complain about it." 

"What, like, they don't like your skin? Or is it because you got those black eyes that make you so mysterious?" She offered a flirtatious smile but he didn't look. 

"McDonough used to be my brother." She lost her grin and furrowed her brow. "He wanted to be mayor. So, he ran on the idea that ghouls should get kicked to the wastes. I tried to stop him. I tried to help them." His mouth twitched as a memory filled with hate seemed to pass his eyes. "But I don't think that was even him I was talkin' to. He's been a synth for who-knows-how-long and I just... left." 

Lorna took another shot, hoping she would learn how to comfort another person as it set in. 

"He probably got ambushed. I bet he didn't even know what happened." Hancock seemed off, his fingers tightening around his beer while he glared at the counter. "My brother died and I never even knew. I just went along like a stupid sheep and let the wolves eat him behind my back." She shook her head uselessly and touched his arm, bent across the counter top where his red sleeves dulled with his tone. "He's dead. He never even ran for mayor, probably. I took this place in the world thinkin' my own flesh and blood had betrayed our city just to be in the Upper Stands, but, he was probably rotting before that campaign even started." 

She was lost, but felt encouraged to try. "You don't know that." 

He glanced at her from an angle, his eyes, though colorless, shushing her. "I don't even know where his body went." 

Lorna nodded again and inhaled quickly. "Look, life is hard, right? You told me it's about the little shit. Your brother, if he was taken that early on - he loved you like you loved him. I mean, if you only fought with the synth-copy of him, that means he died knowing the you that supported him. Right?"

Hancock finally turned his head enough to look at her. "Yeah. Maybe." 

"The Institute destroyed hundreds of lives. But that doesn't mean they wiped them from existence. Your brother is still your brother, and that's more than I've ever had." It was a cheap shot, but a hopeful rhetoric that she wanted to sway him. She wanted Hancock away from the sadness she couldn't grasp. 

It wasn't the time for her to notice, but she marveled at his flesh. The dim light of the bar cast tiny shadows across the stark lesions of his poisoning, his dark eyes pitch black and the curve of his cheekbones apparent beneath. She wanted to touch his shoulder and have him wrap her up in his arms so that he could unload the guilt and loss burdening his mind. 

Lorna had read several interesting things while she searched the Institute for humans in hiding. She'd learned where Hancock's coat had come from and why the ugly city of Boston seemed to tower over the land. She'd read entries in encyclopedias and novels detailing the lives of humans - their shocking childhood traumas that led to quirky mistakes and outright psychosis in their adulthood, and endless lust they had over the pleasures of contact. Even in its most primal stage, the sensation of touch was apex among other senses for them, and she wondered if synths had similar chemistry. 

Hancock took her guilty stab in stride. "Yeah. I had a brother and we grew up together. It's more than most have." He didn't seem convinced, especially as he took another swig and seemed irritated at existing. "I can't believe it's over, I guess." 

Lorna stared at his hand on the counter, motionless while his other hand held the beer bottle and occasionally held his head up. She traced the lines of his skin with her eyes, memorizing the unique patterns radiation had impressed upon it. Her brain didn't seem to respond when she moved her own hand close, creeping towards his, before her fingers wrapped between his thumb and index finger jwith a comforting pressure. He didn't respond and she silently hoped he would take it as a friendly gesture.

"There's no sense in looking back. The dead can't, so we have to do anything we can to prove that we deserve our chance." 

Hancock smiled, causing a wave of anxious joy to fill her chest, and commented, "You sure did change." 

"I don't know what I was before, but I'm really me, now. Something they did to me made everything seem wrong and evil, but things are clearer now. The world isn't fucked up - humans are." 

He chuckled and twisted off of the stool, his hand leaving hers. "That's true. I'm gonna try out that blue Jet. Looks fun." He didn't invite her, so Lorna decided to let him leave, swaying the fresh shot in a cubed glass with focus.

She didn't entirely know why she'd decided to start thinking about Hancock so much, and refused to believe that she'd suddenly developed some kind of interest in him after having her mind wiped. She sat, considering his sad expression and the feeling of his skin in her hand, and began feeling the liquor set in, a dizziness birthed from a half-liter of rum that was slowly spreading through her veins. Finally, she looked to the former Codsworth, now called _Charlie,_ and beckoned him over. The robot didn't spare an ounce of courtesy and asked, "Whatchu wan', eh?" 

"What's the deal with the Mayor? He tour the place or does he keep to himself?" 

Charlie's eyes swiveled and he barked a laugh. "Oi, you think you can get info fo' free? The mayor, huh, that'll cost a pre'y penny." 

She nodded shortly and shoved a hand into her pocket, filled with caps she'd ripped off from her last visit to the Railroad. They owed her. The robot swept the pile of caps she dropped off the counter and into a box beneath, loud clattering halting the sound of the bar for mere moments before the chatter rose again. 

"A'right. Yeah, the good Mayor's known for his lady friends. I 'ear it's mostly the ghoul girls, now, since the, uh,  _change_ \- but the women love him." Lorna kept her lips pressed as she listened, combined feelings of hesitancy and excitement building in her chest. She wanted to celebrate her defeat of Mother, and the Railroad wouldn't be getting a solid line of information from her without a cost. The only other person who knew was Hancock. And he was, apparently, a slut. 

She grinned at the thought, wanting to laugh despite Charlie's focus. "Cool. Thanks, Char. The, uh, Mayor's picking up the tab." The robot sighed dramatically as she turned away and started towards the door. She wasn't sure what humans wanted or why, but she knew she felt some kind of primal lust in her that made her climb the stairs towards the street and enter the State House with a confidence she'd never known. She'd read that people usually enjoyed the company of others, and even moreso when they fucked. There was a sense of guilt and shame at her own ignorance, but, due to Trantric, she had an idea of the end game. Lorna shuddered at the memory as she climbed the stairs. He'd been so disgusting and dirty, so forceful and violent - she secretly hoped that wasn't the reality of it all. She wanted to see Hancock smile at her with a feeling she couldn't name in that moment. She wanted to feel safe, yet strong beside him. 

When she reached his office, Hancock had spread himself against the couch, one leg thrown over the backing while his head lay against an armrest. A canister of Jet hung from his fingertips near the floor as his arm dangled. She wondered if he'd passed out. 

As she entered the room, she knocked on one open door and called out softly, "Mayor?" 

Hancock's head jerked to look at her, seeming surprised, before he grinned slowly and slurred, " _Holy shit,_ this stuff is crazy." He laughed at himself and Lorna closed the double doors while his attention was drawn. He moved his arms uselessly as he tried to find words for the high. "It's like if a whale had tits and I was up against 'em." 

She snorted rudely and stepped beside the couch, hovering over him while he grinned. "Fuck's a whale?" 

His eyes were focused while his voice hit a higher pitch. "They're like Brahmin but in water and they're fuckin huge, I guess." 

She returned his smile, though a wicked intent laced her own. She was still a bit wobbly and, admittedly, couldn't remember anything between Charlie and where she stood with total clarity, but she was aware. She knew the ghoul on the couch understood his attraction and most likely used it, and she knew that she wanted to see what it was that bonded humanity so tightly. She felt like a child as she looked over him, guessing he'd been partner to more copulation than accounted for every day she'd been alive. 

Lorna crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes in a faux attempt at intimidation. "I want a reward." 

He laughed again, a quick breath of joy that disappeared as he shook his head. "I ain't in the headspace for negotiations, doll." Her chest fluttered at the cute name. "What? Wait," he seemed suddenly sober and shook his head, "the hell would I be rewardin' you for? I didn't make you go to the fuckin' Institute. Wait, do you mean from me, or Goodneighbor, or, like, the whole fuckin' Commonwealth? 'Cause hey, I agree, but fuck." 

She smiled again. "No, I just want a reward from you." 

His eyes shot to hers as his high came back, letting him nestle into the couch with a confident air. "What kind of reward?" 

Lorna inhaled shortly and took her chance. She bent down, turning to tilt her chin near his, before pressing her lips to his mouth. 

She felt her thighs quiver with drunken anxiety and she realized her arms were still crossed, comfortably stuck against her chest. Her shoulder had repaired itself already, it seemed, as the canvas sling hung uselessly between them. It was fireworks and oil leaks, a hybrid of excitement and fear that reminded her of the brutality within the walls of the Institute. She felt out-of-place, yet insisted she stay. 

Hancock pressed back against her, his mouth opening slightly, and she followed his lead. She parted her lips and his tongue moved into her mouth, slick muscle touching her own in a surprising aggression. His hand met her cheek, dropping the Jet to the floor, and a sensation of relief spread across her as she realized he was just as interested as she was. She let him roam her mouth, invading and dominating as she let instinct take hold and her tongue pressed gently to his each time she took a moment to breathe. He straightened himself flat to move up against her, seeming to steal her breath. 

He pulled her away suddenly, and she caught a darkness in his expression that made lust sing quietly between her thighs. His voice was low - gravel and acid bathing petrified wood and gleaming bullets, "You're sweet, doll, but we both know you'd rather find some smoothskin out there to _reward_ you."

Lorna was taken aback, wincing at him. "You don't...? I mean, I just thought-" she stuttered and his thumb brushed against her cheek where his palm still laid. 

"You're jus' drunk," he insisted lazily, his eyes leaving hers to glance about the ceiling. "I don't need a pretty thing like you thinkin' this was a mistake." 

She asserted herself over him, pressing one knee between his hip and the couch's back, and glared down at him. "That's what you think? I'm pretty fuckin' sure you know that you're better than anyone out there." 

She couldn't fahhom why she'd choose some squishy man she didn't know when the dark-eyed ghoul was already so close. This was important to her - _he_ was important. He stared at her with a hard look as she moved into his palm, her lips brushing his wrist. "C'mon, doll," he whispered hoarsely, "you know you're tanked and you probably'll just freak out when you remember."

Lorna felt her upper lip twitch as something like rage and confidence filled her. She bent forward, catching him again in a deep kiss that he gave into quickly. With her against him, he ground slowly, seeming to want her, though an anxious voice told her he was trying to be nice by insisting she was drunk, and now he was stuck. She broke from his mouth to touch her nose to his cheekbone, eyes closed as she asked quietly, "Do you want to fuck me?" 

He breath caught and he chuckled, sending nervous streams of need along her spine. "Yeah," he answered shortly. 

"Then do it." She moved quickly back to kiss him, savoring bitter Jet and wasteland air, a sting of alcohol on him as his delved back into her mouth, tasting whatever she was. He was encouraged by her words, his hands moving to her hips, where he ground against her softly. She could feel hesitance in his movement. She insisted, "I'm not drunk. I know what I'm doing." 

She was only half-honest, knowing she had only a vague idea of the movements and chemical explosions inside her. Liquor simply didn't sit for very long, likely something to do with her modified metabolism. Hancock was motivated by her words, groaning lightly into her mouth. She returned the sound desperately, surprising herself. Despite their unison, he pulled away again, his black eyes close to hers while he spoke, "What brought you up here?" 

It was the inevitable conclusion of his high mind - he wondered why she'd chosen him, why she'd followed, and why she insisted. The culmination was a simple question, no less innocuous than asking why she slept. He still wasn't sure about her - and she understood. She'd tried to fight him, ignored his warnings and instructions, and made him a witness to her suicidal thoughts. But that Lorna was dead, shot through the brain and rotting deep underground. This Lorna, Zero-One-Six, refused to believe she was ever so weak, and regretted every rude move she'd made against the Mayor. But her partially-missing finger and the scarring along her legs were proof of why she'd feared and why she couldn't trust the ghoul at first. 

Lorna breathed against his skin, inhaling a scent of musk and flesh that made her want to taste him. Her voice was strained as she responded, "You're the only one that tried. You always made sure I kept moving, no matter what. The Railroad abandoned me because I was a lost cause... But you kept me alive." Her voice traced against his cheek and down his neck. "I don't care if you meant it. You made the effort. That's all I fuckin' needed. Everyone treated me like a burden." She hid her eyes inside the crook of his neck. "I didn't ask for any of this. I didn't want to be a fucked-up synth." 

His voice was clear and sober, heat against her skin where he pushed a cheek against her head; "Hey, come on. No need for that heavy shit. You ain't a burden or a _fucked-up synth._ We're all fucked up - it's just part of life." 

Lorna leaned back, taking in the muscles of his face, set into an earnest smile that made her thoughts melt into rain. She ran a hand up his chest, feeling his pectoral muscles with a bitten lip, glancing to his eyes for help. He was grinning, still, and watching her with amusement. She felt ashamed, suddenly, and had to make a move of dominance. 

Hancock made a gruff sound of surprise when she touch her mouth to his throat, arching herself and tilting her head sideways to spread her lips across his Adam's apple. Her tongue flicked against his rigid flesh, tasting more than flesh. His skin reminded her of soft earth and warm wind - it was human, yet heavier, like he'd become part of the wastes. She wanted more, especially when he spoke and she moaned against the vibrations of his throat. " _Shit,_ you're the best kind of freak." She moved her mouth down to his collar bones, undoing his shirt enough to run her tongue against hard flesh that tasted of musk and violence. It wasn't something she could ever describe, loving the unique abrasions and how lost he seemed at her movements. 

Lorna stared into his eyes when he wrapped his fingers into her awkwardly-cut hair and pulled her back with a smirk. "You got it backwards, doll - I'm s'posed to lick _you_ up and down." She tiled her chin with an expression of arrogance, refusing to let a directive be placed on what she _should_ do.She lifted her hips and dragged the softest touch of her crotch down the slowly-hardening length beneath her, biting her lip while she returned the smirk disappearing from his face. Hancock's expression wavered for only a moment, when it was replaced by a desperate look, but he took the reigns again by grabbing her jaw, drawing her down to kiss him while he thrust upwards, bouncing her against him. 

He was getting harder by the moment, every touch she placed causing a wave of heat to fill him. Lorna just smiled and let him suffer, twisting her hips against them as though she had a score to settle. 

She realized he'd had enough teasing when her world spun and she found herself on her back, pressed into the corner of the armrest with her head bent upwards while Hancock loomed over her. He bared his teeth in a teasing grin and traced a finger down her thigh. He voice was teasing and heavy, a feeling of taboo accusation in his tone. "You sure you wanna fuck a ghoul?" She nodded and he moved like a vampire invited indoors - his mouth met hers with a hunger she tried to mirror, tilting into his touch, while his hands smoothed up her waist. He pushed her shirt high to the bottom of her bra where his fingers played delicately against soft flesh. He sat between her legs, pressing his building erection to her groin with a soft growl every few moments. Lorna wanted to tear her clothing off and beg he do what he wanted, hoping for little more than his pleasure inside of her. She wanted to be his. She wanted to feel owned by someone she _chose,_ who would value her and treat her like a person, while still making her feel so small and desperate while she worshipped him.

Lorna took a moment between his grinding hips to pull her shirt over her head, and she watched with delight as Hancock bit a lip and grinned, teeth glaring against the fluorescent lighting. 

He lowered his mouth to her ear, a hand snaking between them to grope a breast through her bra, and he murmured, "I always wondered what it took to shut you up. Now, I'm gonna make you real fuckin' loud." 

She felt an odd heat rush over her and he chuckled, fishing his hand into her bra to bare her breat, settling the fabric beneath to hold her skin taut before him. She felt oddly shy, but couldn't place the reasoning behind it. Hancock pressed a kiss to her neck before whispering, "Call me John, now, yeah?" 

She agreed with a soft moan as his fingers found her hardened nipple, toying with it between his fingertips. She hadn't thought to research how bodies felt pleasure, so the feeling of her clit swelling and her crotch growing wetter surprised her. It got worse when he arched to drag his tongue across her nipple, grazing nerves so delicate, it made her whimper like an animal. 

His rough voice moved along her skin like waves on sand - "This your first time, doll?" 

She answered softly, "Technically," pressing her hips against him like an agonized plea while she shut her eyes and focused on his touch. Hancock - _John_ \- took her response as encouragement and moved to free her other breast, letting her skin touch the cool air where she pebbled and groaned. He thrust against her, cock hard as a marble, and she looked to him through her eyelashes. Her voice was tight, echoing with lust, " _Please, John."_

He squeezed a breast into either hand, flicking his fingers against her nipples to earn sweet noises that fell from her lips with a wince. He kissed her again, relishing the softness of her lips against his own hard, scarred flesh. She was begging with her arching back and squeezing thighs, though, despite the worries passing through his mind. He spoke in a low rumble, barely audible against her lips - "Please, what?" 

She let out something like a giggle, but it was drowned out by moans from his touches. She forced her voice out, shamelessly begging, " _Fuck_ me, John, _please."_  He smirked down at her, undoing his pants and unwrapping the flag from his waist to free his throbbing cock. He let it press against her clothed crotch lightly, her voice disappearing into heightened reaches of need. Hancock groaned back, grabbing at the waist of her pants where they revealed a thin white line of her panties underneath. 

She understood and undid the last of her clothing, wriggling out of it to leave herself exposed beneath him. He still wore so much clothing and she wanted to test her nails on the skin of his torso, peaking out where she'd undone his shirt. His hands glided across her soft skin, scars pierced along her body like brushes of paint. He brought his thumb to her mouth, dragging it carefully along her lower lip while he growled, "Be nice and loud for me, sunshine." 

He dragged the head of his cock against her warmth, a whimper escaping from her, and he spread her slowly, pushing himself tortuously. She was tight and hot like a gripped fist and he couldn't suppress the groan the left him. Lorna lifted her ass and he filled her suddenly, her cheeks blushing red from the sensation. 

She began begging, unruly moans filling the air between them as he pulled back mere inches before fucking into her. Her skin was flushed and her expression made him clamp his teeth, her jaw falling open while he tried to keep her eyes open to watch. He moved a hand between the small of her back and the couch and angled himself downward, scraping her walls with agonizing precision. Lorna panted and threw her head back against the armrest, letting him run a hand down her throat to feel her voice hum as she cried out. 

John wondered for a moment if she was actually in pain, her eyes twisted shut and her hands in tight fists beneath her bouncing breasts. To experiment, he moved back and dragged her with him to lay her flat, positioning to slam upwards, delving deeper into her. His rough fingers dug into her hips, pulling her against him as he moved. He felt the tip of his cock pound into a hard wall as he filled her entirely, and focused there to earn her wrapped fingers around the cloth of his coat, tight on his shoulders as she lost herself. 

He knew she was close when her timed moans turned to high-pitched pants and her legs moved against his sides, tightening and slipping. He could hardly speak between his own groans that he tried to suppress, wanting her voice to fill the State House. "You gonna cum, doll?" She whimpered and looked through her eyelashes at him, pupils blown wide. He moved a hand from her hip and slipped his fingers down to find her clit. The angle was awkward, but he used two fingers to trap her swollen nerves, lubricated by her own spreading wetness, and tortured her with fast twists of his wrist. 

He didn't have to remind her to be loud - Lorna fell apart moments after he'd begun touching her in time with his thrusts. Her voice was hoarse and pleading and John dropped his head as the sounds she made had him cumming hard, filling the tight space inside her as his cock twitched against the pulsating walls of her cunt. He thrust into her a few final times, her body limp and flushed while she breathed heavily and watched him. 

He pulled out, dropping from her to hear a sweet moan of loss. She turned onto her side as he stood up and curled into herself, a smile of satisfaction on her lips while she stared at the far wall. She was high from the endorphins and exhaustion and slowed her breathing. John slipped himself back into his pants, grabbing the flag from the back of the couch to tie it at his hips. She moved with a jerk to watch him, a stupid grin and half-lidded eyes making him chuckle. "There's your reward, doll." 

She bit her lip and shook her head. "I'm starting to think it was my real goal." 

He laughed again and swiped the Jet he'd dropped from the floor, twisting to sit beside her feet. She sat up, still naked, and he offered it to her; "Gonna stay around?" 

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lorna doesn't know what a horse is.

There was a total emptiness of memory when Hancock woke up. He was collapsed on the couch with a pack of cigarettes sitting on his chest, a small note written on the front. He couldn't see straight yet, and he leaned his head back to think. Lorna had let him fuck her silly and, now, he was alone. He wondered if something had happened that made her leave or if she'd just gone to the hotel to have a real bed to sleep in. Hancock rubbed his eyes and groaned, a headache of dehydration skulking in the back of his head. Finally, he sat up, grabbing the cigarettes to read the note: _I'll be back._

Hancock threw the pack across the room, far off where he couldn't see it. He knew she was fucking lying, and he still _fucking_ did it. She was drunk, her skin laced with the redness of an alcoholic while she cried out without any brain function. He had fucked it all up by being with her. 

When he'd first torn that burlap sack from her head while she kneeled in the town square, those green eyes lit with sunlight and fear, he'd stopped. He'd considered something about her, whether it was how she bore into him with her gaze or simply existed in a sullen beauty that made him want to hide her, he didn't know. 

She'd been so sharp - a dagger in his chest every time he tried to help her. But, he was a masochist _and_ a sadist. He wanted to brutalize her and feel her overcome him. He'd been so fucking stupid to give in. No smoothskin would trade a perfectly good cock for a ghoul's - it was just aesthetic chemistry. She'd probably woken up to see his dumb ass asleep nearby and snuck out, hoping to never hear from him again. 

It pissed him off. He was a fucking whore when he'd had soft skin and bright eyes - girls would fall to his whims and beg him for more. Yet, now, the girl who said she owed him everything had disappeared like she'd regretted it all. Everything was a fucking joke all the time, and all he could do was grin and bear it until he could rove around the streets of downtown and murder some raiders with hatred in his heart. 

A knock hit the doors, still closed, and Fahrenheit entered. Her ginger hair was soaked with rain and blood, and she seemed exhausted. She threw her boots across the room and sighed, glancing at him to report, "Pickman is fucking dead, okay?" 

He nodded, unsure if she wanted more, and willing to give nothing else. "Good," he muttered. She seemed to catch his hard tone and Hancock lifted from the couch to grab a handful of medicine bottle from the duffle bag still spread open on his desk. "Let's celebrate, huh? Gift from the synth."

Fahrenheit smoothed her hair and joined him by the desk, cocking her head. "What, the one I caught? How d'ya know it's any good?" 

He let a chuckle slide from his throat while he tried to push Lorna from his mind. "Girl destroyed the Institute. Brought a Courser to prove it." Fahrenheit watched him like she thought he was high again. "Pressed a little button and, _boom,_ he's right there, tellin' me secrets and shit I couldn't believe."

John pressed his lips around a fresh inhaler of Jet and watched Fahrenheit cross her arms with a raised brow. "Okay, boss," she said with an uneven tone, "so the little synth killed the scientists. Where'd this shit come from?" 

"Leader's fuckin' bedroom," he laughed as vapor left his throat, blurring his vision for a moment before he left Fahrenheit's gaze to sit back on the couch. "It's true."

Fahrenheit spoke like a bullet - "Then where is she, now?" 

He shrugged, leaning back to close his eyes. "Dunno." 

 

Lorna had regretted leaving Hancock so quickly and without a proper farewell, but she'd woken in the middle of the night to anxiety about her brethren underground. She'd left Goodneighbor in silence to call X6-88 to her with a blast of electricity. He'd crossed his arms and stared at her through sunglasses in the dead of night. 

"Zero-One-Six," he greeted shortly, waiting for her request. 

She sneered and spat, "Haven't you gotten the idea that you aren't a robot and you don't have to talk like that?" 

"I was created speaking this way," he answered evenly. 

"And I was created with my thumb up my ass," she growled. She missed John's voice and how he'd talk her down from any emotion. X6 just nodded. 

"Indeed. What did you need, Zero-One-Six?" 

"Just call me Zero for fuck's sake." She shook her head and spoke seriously, "We need to find a place for people to live. I could try to clear places out, but I'd need help. Forgoing that, I think we should consider a pre-populated settlement." 

X6 nodded slowly. "There are very few. Diamond City was planned to be overtaken. Perhaps some directives were enacted and it could be open to settlement." 

Lorna scoffed and kicked her heel against the dirt of the alleyway they stood in. "DC? That place was packed. They don't even let anyone in anymore, I hear." 

X6 was finished speaking and pressed a hand to his chest. "It's worth a try, _ma'am_." 

He disappeared into lightning and she made a face, touching her toe to the gravel. She wouldn't be a useless asshole in the peanut gallery anymore. She was the reason the Institute fell, and she would fucking act like it. 

Lorna sniffed and turned, knowing DC was somewhere south-west of where she stood. As long as she could return to John as soon as possible, she knew where she was. 

She watched memories of him in her head while she walked. She imagined him laughing and kissing her hand, smirking and pulling her close. She wanted to feel him against her, safe from the wastes yet stronger at his side. Gunshots spreading at a distance behind her reminded Lorna of where she was and she sighed. 

It was over the mottled corpses of Security and several rotting Brahmin that she reached the gate to Diamond City. When she'd come with Deacon, the giant door had been lifted and security seemed as stressed as a molerat underground. Now, though, it was closed tight and no response came through the intercom out front. 

Lorna gazed up the height of its walls, trying to find an open access point. She'd need some kind of help to reach it or end up snapping an ancient electric cable. She sighed again in aggravation and continued pressing the red button beneath the speaker, hoping someone inside would notice. 

After silent minutes, a man's voice reached out through the box with a single command; "Leave." 

Lorna rolled her eyes and pressed the button again, speaking loudly, "I need to see the mayor." 

The voice was nearly breaking in response, "There _is_ no mayor. Just leave." 

Irritated, she held the button again, shouting, "The Institute is gone! Your people can be free again!" 

She stepped back as rattling metal echoed throughout the courtyard and the giant door began lifting, creaking machinery pulling it upwards. The moment it was level with her head, a man darted forward, shoving a gun's barrel to her chest. He was covered in filth, somehow moreso than the average scavver, and his eyes were crazed and wide. He shouted, "I told you to _get the fuck out of here!"_

She pushed her chest against the gun, stepping towards him while she reminded herself that she might survive a gunshot to the heart if Tom had been correct. "I _need_ to see _someone,"_ she growled, the man's confidence wavering as she pushed him back, through the open gate. Rubble crushed beneath their feet and the man threw his gun to the side with a shout, letting it skid into a corner. 

He was screaming and she realized no one was inside the vestibule. "There _ain't_ anyone, _goddammit!_ There ain't _no one!"_ He was actually sobbing into his hands before he fell to his knees. Her eyes twitched and she left him to fester, climbing the stairs that seemed to open to the sky, an urgency in her steps. No one had been trading, no one had been patrolling, and a man with no uniform had opened the gate.

She froze as the valley of Diamond City opened before her, metal housing spread in perfect disarray. It was entirely empty. 

Even the Protectron at its core was gone, leaving a deathly silence that made her skin crawl. She considered calling X6, but he'd made it clear he was busy helping reform the Institute. All she could do was move forward, her steps like gunshots in their stark breaking of the silence. She reached the noodle stand where she and Deacon had argued with the guard, from which she had heard the shouting merchants and arguing citizens. 

"Ain't as pretty when it's empty, huh?" Lorna turned suddenly, jumping at the voice that appeared behind her. It was a synth, some kind she'd never seen before with glowing golden eyes. He stepped closer and she raised her chin. Hancock would want her to, she guessed. The synth's voice was smooth and held an accent she couldn't place. "How'd you get by ol' Danny up front?" 

She nodded towards the noodle stand. "What happened here?" 

He had his hands shoved into an old trench coat and walked with a limp, caused by a foot that seemed to face outward. "Humans couldn't take it anymore. Man came here right before McDonough closed the town off and got real angry that he couldn't go back to his family out there. Said he was just lookin' to trade and wanted to leave. McDonough had him locked up for a couple days and the man went off his nut. Showed up in the mayor's office and shot him right in the head. 'Course, he was killed by security, but the good doctor did an autopsy and found out the mayor was a synth. Well, the gate was still locked tight and everyone who had supported the mayor was suddenly a synth and everyone who'd criticized him decided to start a mob. Lots of bloodshed."

She nodded slowly. _McDonough,_ John's brother - the one planted to destroy the population there. The synth considered her carefully

"You don't seem too surprised." 

She still knew nothing about the synth, whose flesh was bare metal and whose circuitry shown like open wounds behind his jawline. He could have been sent to follow-up on McDonough or stake a claim in the area before Mother fell. Unsure, she crossed her arms and shrugged. "Not as surprising as seein' someone like you. You a prototype, too?" 

He smiled genuinely and leaned against the bar of the noodle stand. " _Too,_ huh? Well, I don't know about you, but I've never seen someone like me, so I would have to guess so. What brings you so deep into an empty city?"

He looked like a Gen-2 with faux skin and gleaming mechanics, but he spoke like he was conscious. Lorna took a chance and offered her information; "The Institute has fallen." She cleared her throat, trying to maintain a confident face. "I'm looking for a place for the synths who want to leave. They've established their own hierarchal network, now, and I'm hoping to open communications between them and the Commonwealth." 

He stared at her too long before cracking a grin and laughing, his voice too unique to be mechanized. "Now, I've heard some real stories in my day, but that's something-"

She cut him off, "I can have your leg fixed. Whatever you need. We need more synths who know the Wastes. Please." 

The synth lost his smile. "Well, either you're not joking or you're here to kill me. Honestly, I can't do much anymore with my leg like this, plus I've got a few twisted wires from a fight a week back." He sighed, "Well, then, what d'ya need?" 

She had to call X6. He was the only contact she had inside the Institute, though she got the impression he wished it was anyone else. The former-Courser had given her the cube to request his immediate transit for aid and communication back to the Institute, and she'd already brought him to her too many times for no real reason. She grimaced and fished for the die in her pocket, pressing the button that caused the flash of blue signaling his appearance. The other synth jumped back, grabbing his twisted leg to hold it straight, and shouted in surprise. 

X6 crossed his arms and glanced around. "Yes, _Zero?"_

She pointed at the silver synth and X6 regarded him carefully. "I've found a prototype. He knows this place, and, apparently, all the humans killed each other." 

X6 tilted his chin. "I've heard of you," he directed at the new synth. "You were the Gen-3 prototype. You escaped." 

The synth seemed put off. "Look, I don't know about any of that, but how about you just go right back home, huh?" 

Lorna furrowed her brow. "But we need this space for the synths." 

He argued, "I may not be able to blend in like you two, but I know how to stay hidden. This isn't how I'm going out." 

X6 cleared his throat and gestured towards her. "This is a Gen-4 prototype. I am - was - a Courser. There is no better proof. Please, come with me and I will have your parts fixed." 

Lorna stepped in quickly and asked, "Also, what is your name?" 

The synth sighed. "Valentine. Nick Valentine."

She nodded and offered, "Nick, I need you to help us. All I need to do is bring synths here and they can start the town back up like no one ever left." 

"Just like the Boogeyman wanted," he muttered. 

"This is for freedom, not deception," she insisted. Nick watched her, hesitant as he squeezed his twisted leg. "I've met with the mayor of Goodneighbor and he's accepted it. I don't know any other settlements around, but I'd be more than happy to speak to their leaders."

Nick seemed tired suddenly, shaking his head thoughtfully. "Not many good things out there, these days. Now that Ellie's gone, seems like the same cycle just repeats forever."

X6 offered a hand out to Nick. "We are the new cycle." The synth was hesitant, but finally shook X6's hand in a way that made Lorna squint - it was a weird gesture only they seemed to understand. 

 

Nick allowed himself to be transported with Lorna and X6 to the Institute, and she'd insisted on helping him stay upright for the shock of displacement. He was far from thrilled, no more curious than body dragged to the oven. X6 took him as Lorna left the elevator at its only other stop, the same room in which she'd killed Mother. It was wiped clean, the shining white of the floors glaring against the lighting. It was a creeping feeling, knowing the body shed been modeled after had been splayed in destruction only days before. 

She entered Mother's former quarters, finding synths scattered about as though it were a common area. Some noticed her and gave a quick smile, but it was only the small woman she had given the taser to that spoke to her. She was mousy and cute, long brown hair having been let go from the strict ponytail she'd worn and a brightness in her eyes. "You're Zero-One-Six, right? X6 was teaching me to use the transporter - I'm going to be a Medium!" She was chipper, so far from the tiny thing that had thought Lorna was a dictator on the prowl. 

"A Medium?" Lorna smiled and cocked her head. 

"That's what we've called it - a Medium runs the transporter the way they used it for the expedition and capture teams. We're going to have every synth's Caller tagged so they can travel wherever they want!" She didn't pause for Lorna's response and, instead, took her by the arm to pull her to a small group of chatting synths. A man saw them and smiled at the woman. She spoke like she'd won a prize. "This is RK-54 - we used to clean the lower levels together and, now, well-" 

RK stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. "We are _together,_ now." He looked to Lorna, "There is a small group that wants to leave. X6 has kept us up-to-date on your scouting, but says nothing has been found yet." 

"Actually," she grinned, "I've found an entire city where the humans killed each other off. It's considered the most secure in the Commonwealth and has shelter and a water source." RK raised his eyebrows and looked to the other synths in his group. One woman was beaming. 

"Let's go," she insisted, grabbing the shoulder of another. "We can finally see the outside!" 

The other synth, a tall man with dark eyes, nodded but seemed unsure. "Why did the humans die?" 

Lorna made a face and sighed. "It was all part of Mother's bullshit. One of the Plants up-top went crazy and all the humans thought their neighbors were synths and they thought they'd be killed, so, uh, they died." She shrugged at the tight faces. 

RK pulled the small woman to his side. "They are afraid now, but we will be fine. There is no need for them to know what we are, and, as long as our Mediums are trained and watch for danger, we will be safe." He kissed his partner's head and Lorna couldn't hide a smile. 

 

The group pulled together into the vestibule was fairly-sized and Lorna had to make notes on her arms to remember the endless combinations of letters making up their names. She hoped desparately that they would find new names outside. The small woman running the transporter, BR-96, was using a paper map to figure Diamond City's location from the coordinates already programmed. Lorna was introduced to MK-46, NH-23, ST-08, RT-92, and a towering male named Y9-08, a former Courser. Nick rejoined them with X6, who stepped away to watch BR walk slowly through the steps of large-transport, and Lorna shook her limbs to calm her nerves. It was so many new people, all of whom were vaguely aware of her.

MK was an excitable girl with blonde hair that spoke quickly to Nick as he joined them in the small, circular room. "What are you wearing? What's it like to have circuits? Have you ever killed a person? Will you be staying with us?" 

Nick laughed warmly and Lorna listened, eavesdropping while she feigned a stoic stance. "Well, uh, I'm a detective, so I go solve things and find people. I'll help you all get settled and, hopefully, I can do that again."

X6-88 stepped towards them and spoke evenly, "Displacement is sudden and may cause you to lose balance or feel ill. Do not move until you are on the ground. Zero-One-Six has a transponder that will alert us in case of emergency. Good luck." 

There wasn't a moment to breathe before the light encased them and she heard MK's high voice shriek in excitement. The sunlight of the wastes replaced the blinding blue and Lorna felt another synth knock into her as he was thrown off balance. The group stood at the center of Diamond City, a pack of life in the dead town. They collected themselves slowly, ST touching the dust of the ground with curiosity while NH covered his eyes from the sun. MK leapt forward and flattened her hands against the counter of the noodle bar, gasping. She sniffed the air and grinned. "It's beautiful!" 

Y9, the Courser with his lips tight, stepped out carefully to survey the area. Lorna was getting restless and spoke to him - "The front gate will be shut when I leave. You won't have anyone coming in, yet, so help them get acclimated. How many times have you been outside?" 

His voice was hard and smooth like X6's, "I am a seasoned agent. I will do a sweep of the area to ensure we are alone." 

She nodded, still uncomfortable with the robotic tones of Courser. She turned to the group. "I know you've all got designations, but, up here, people generally have names, the same as the scientists did. I highly suggest finding one for yourselves to assimilate." 

MK wrapped herself around Nick's arm and beamed, "Nick, name me, please!" The girl was obnoxiously sweet, obviously taken by the prototype. He laughed. 

"Well, now, a name should be something personal, darling." 

"Darling," she echoed. "I'll be Darling." She looked to Lorna with joy. "That is a name, right?" 

Lorna clapped her hands once and nodded. "Yes! That's great. Anyone else?" 

NH, ST, and RT were spreading outward, touching and staring their way across the marketplace. They each seemed unsure or simply didn't care to answer and Lorna turned on her heel. "Great! I have things to do out there, so, please, make sure to keep in touch with X6." She passed Y9 on her way towards the gate and shoved the cubic transponder into his hand. "You know how these work, so you hold onto it. There might be a human at the gate, but I'll speak with him or remove him. I'll try to figure out how to get caravans coming here again, too." He nodded curtly and continued on, a pistol in his hands as he searched the area. 

Her legs weren't moving quickly enough as she made her way to the front gate. As he'd been before, Danny was sobbing as he sat on a crate in a corner. He jumped when her footsteps echoed down the stairwell, and he threw his hands up in surrender. "What do you want?" 

She tried to keep her voice calm as she reached down to put both hands on his shoulders. The man sniffed and she felt an annoyed pity. "Diamond City is inhabited. Danny, that's you're name?" He nodded, confused. "Listen, Danny, I've brought settlers. Be their guard. You don't have to give up, now." He glanced at the open gate. 

"But I didn't see any-" 

She stood straight and put her hands on her hips with a teasing smile. "Well,you can't guard very well with your head in your hands, huh? So, will you watch the gate? Just keep doing what you were - no one in and no one out, for now. You'll be fine." She stepped away as he nodded again and crept into the courtyard past the walls carefully. "Shut the gate behind me," she called back before searching her pockets for the drawn-on map. She wanted badly to go back to Goodneighbor, but she knew the Railroad needed to be included in the _New Order,_ or whatever they'd end up calling it. It was frivolous for them to continue wasting resources to fight an enemy that was gone, and she'd considered the fact that they'd end up realizing it eventually, but she thought of John and his calculated empathy and knew she was responsible for making an effort.

She took the side streets she remembered with Deacon, following the map carefully to the square she'd marked for herself. She could still hear the distant sounds of violence and shouting, but it seemed to exist on another plane, now. The men and women killing each other had no idea what had gone on beneath their feet or inside the Wall. It was wasteful. 

The building under which the Railroad hid was nestled perfectly between safe, high walls with a view of the viscous shore. Despite its sweet facade, she felt sick being there again. She descended the stairs to the cool, rock walls and skeletons and turned the heavy ring at the end, spelling out the faction's name with a grimace. 

The wall slid away and she stepped into the darkness, crossing her arms and cocking a hip in irritation. The lights blasted her eyes as she tried to maintain an unhappy face, hoping they'd eventually beg her for her loyalty. Desdemona and Deacon were there, having heard her turning the giant metal on the wall. Desdemona's tone was self-righteous and grated Lorna's nerves. "Ah, you're back. Are you finally here to tell us what happened?" 

Deacon was grinning. "Hey, Lor! What's the deal? Couldn't stay away, could you?" 

Lorna had to smirk, at least, at his stupid, happy face. At least he'd given her the notes on her map. "Yeah, I'm gonna tell ya'." She stepped down to the sand pit and past them. "But I want everyone to hear, not just the Queen and the Jester." 

She heard Deacon laugh and tease, "Heh - I'm a queen." 

They followed her down to the basement where the rest of the Railroad worked. Tinker Tom was hunched over circuitry and wires poking out from old tech and the doctor was scribbling research onto a clipboard. She felt excited to let them know where the world was at now, but it was a spiteful pleasure. 

Desdemona spread her hands on the circular formation where their map was laid out and gave Lorna a hard look. "Everyone, Lorna has returned. She has a report." 

She didn't wait for some happy little gathering to form around them before she bared her teeth in a confident grin and spat, "You're finished. It's over. The Railroad can die off." 

Des straightened with a glare. "Please, just tell us what happened." She didn't even seem surprised at Lorna's hateful tone. 

"Well, you tossed me out there with a fucking map and no goddamn touch," she sneered. "They caught me, took me to the Institute-" 

" _How?"_ Desdemona interrupted. 

Lorna tilted her chin in offense. "Don't fucking worry about _how._ I got there, I killed the guards and almost lost my fucking arm, then I found their leader and I shot her in the head. The synths revolted with a little prodding and now the Institute is theirs. Okay?" She looked to Glory who was blank-eyed and intent. "We're free now." No one looked convinced and she snickered. "So, uh, your little group here did its job and, now, you can all just go home."

Des scoffed. "You actually think this is funny? What the hell is wrong with you? We've spent and lost lives saving synths, and you're making a mockery of us."

"Why were so willing to let me get taken?" Lorna shouted, losing her cool as agents watched in silence. "Why wasn't _I_ good enough to get treated like a runaway and kept safe? You fed me to the fucking wolves and you expect me to treat you like saviors? I don't give a shit how many people you helped - you _abandoned_ me and treated me like a fucking data source. So, _fuck_ you, _fuck_ your little crew, and _fuck_ your self-righteous bullshit. I don't need to prove a goddamn thing to you because you'll see - there won't be anymore runaways and there won't be any more fear. It's _fucking over."_

She pushed away from the stone and past a few scouts, jerking her arm away as Deacon tried to stop her. She stalked out like a child, raging from nothing more than a hurt ego. She knew they were important and had helped countless synths live free lives. But she wasn't going to let that overshadow her own self-value. John had told her she was supposed to keep herself alive and, to her, that meant _she_ would be her own priority. Her synthetic family meant everything, now, as well as the mayor who had no idea where she was - but all it took was one fuck up to get her captured and isolated all over again. She was all she truly had, and no one would take from her again. 

She had made it outside, kicking uselessly at the base of the statue of an animal ridden by a man, when the door to the building opened and Deacon stepped out. He shoved his hands into his pockets and stepped over awkwardly, making it obvious she had overreacted. 

"Hey, so, uh, wanna try that again?" 

An expression of disbelief tightened on her face and she gaped at him. " _Fuck_ no! I meant what I said and I don't need to say shit else."

He nodded. "You were serious, then?" 

She rolled her eyes and leaned against the statue's base. "Yeah. We've got synths already settling out here and, no, you can't help them. Maybe when we open the gates, you can take a look or move in or some shit - that isn't my decision."

Deacon seemed somewhat offended, his voice soft. "You really think we abandoned you?" 

Lorna furrowed her brow. "Sure seems like I do." 

He shook his head and looked at her through dark sunglasses. "You're a Gen-4. You're top dog in the synth world. We knew you would get shit done, we just didn't know what. You essentially can't die unless some real traumatic shit happens, but we knew you'd be fine." 

" _Fine,"_  she echoed thoughtfully. "Yeah, real _fine."_ She sighed and look up to the empty blue sky. "Look, I don't care what happens here. I only came to tell you guys not to waste your resources. I'll let the synths know about you all, but it's their choice what they do."

Deacon nodded with a smirk and raised his hands to calm her. "I can respect that. How do we get in contact, then?" 

She shrugged and looked to the ground. "Give it a week. Go to Diamond City. We'll see." 

He laughed shortly with an eyebrow raised. "Is that a good idea? Those guards aren't too friendly." 

She gave a rude smirk and retorted, "They won't be a problem." 

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

 

 

Deacon had been nice enough to circle Goodneighbor on her map before disappearing back into the Railroad's hideout. Now, as they had nothing to hide from, it seemed more like a clubhouse. She set off towards the south just as the sun began dipping into shades of purple and rose-pink. She imagined the sky was proud of her for at least talking to the Railroad and for being the reason the small group of synths now settled inside the safety of the Wall. She wondered what Hancock would say - whether he'd be happy or uncaring, encouraging or dismissive. 

She looked up from her map at a juncture - to the left, Deacon had written MUTIES with a big, angry-looking X. Across the street was a bus twisted into the curb, jammed beneath debris beside a shop with a glowing sign. She didn't recognize it, but the map told her Goodneighbor's door sat on the other side. There seemed to be a ramp leading up the bus and she targeted it, glancing towards the left to check for "muties" before she raced towards it. As her foot hit plywood covering the debris, an unfamiliar noise rose from beneath the bus and she froze, grabbing her pistol. 

A claw, mangled and sun-baked like torn leather reached from beneath the bus and she held her gun towards it, listening to rumbles of hoarse growling and screeches. Lorna leapt up the ramp, shoving herself into a corner on the other side before whatever creature it was emerged. 

She'd been quiet enough that the creature seemed to falter, gargling as it slid along the ground where she couldn't see. Unfortunately, she'd also been quiet enough to land beside a sleeping animal. The animal's face was horrifyingly disfigured, a snout covered by thin, gnarled flesh and a body that resembled a skinned corpse breathing slowly only feet from where she'd landed. The animal snorted and she felt adrenaline surge into her limbs and jaw, painful and burning like magma. She waited to see if it continued sleeping and, when she'd heard the creature behind her disappear, stood slowly. 

The gravel beneath her skidded as her weight shifted and the animal's eyes were open, dark bulbs of bloodlust eyeing her. She pointed her gun just as it rose, a deep growl echoing against the walls around them. It felt evil to shoot a beast that had been sleeping. Despite its ugly vessel, it was a living thing that likely had been dreaming, something she'd heard synths were told they couldn't do. She had to, however, pull the trigger when it lunged towards her, vicious fangs bared in the scarce light of dusk. The shot was far too loud and she stumbled forward as the animal fell, whimpering before its skull burst. She could see Goodneighbor's sign like a beacon and tore against the ground towards it. She heard the shriek of the creature behind her as she hit the door and threw it open, slamming it behind her. She panted and laid her forehead against the warm wood, annoyed with the sudden violence. She'd walked back and forth between settlements without worry, but, now, it seemed, the wastes had come alive to fight her. 

Lorna turned and leaned her back to the door, chest heaving as her adrenaline settled. Inside, Goodneighbor was the same as when she'd left. The little stores were lit up as night fell and the streets were cast shades of blue between lighting. It felt like she'd traveled miles by stepping through the door. 

Now that she was there, she had no clue how to act when she'd see the Mayor again. Only that morning, she'd been thinking of him as _John,_ yet, now she couldn't imagine being so forward. She thought of the sweet synth couple she'd met and it gave her a twisting stomach - she didn't want to be _adorable_ or whatever that was. She just wanted him. She wanted him to want to be around her and she wanted him to boast about her to strangers. The nauseous feeling grew and she dropped the thoughts entirely, deciding that only liquor could solve the mess. 

As she passed the door to the State House on her way towards the bar, her chest shook and she smacked her hand flat to it, beating the flutter with anger. It was disturbing that her body was acting so strangely just thinking of the ghoul, and it brought about thoughts of malfunctions. She didn't let herself look around, hoping to reach the bar without obstacles. It was only when she hit the first landing leading down that she realized why it had been so quiet up-top. It seemed as though the entire town was there, packed into the small bar with the scent of alcohol and the blur of cigarette smoke passing above them. 

Lorna bit her cheek and swept between bodies, intent on the superb feeling of weightlessness waiting for her. 

She'd ordered a bottle of rum and a shot glass, and was already two shots deep before red caught her eye and she let her head twist too noticeably. Hancock was nearby, his back to her as he chatted with a female ghoul whose grin and body language seemed far too welcoming. Lorna turned back to stare at the bar counter and scratched her neck uncomfortably. It would be especially awkward for her to interrupt him or to insist her business was more important as the woman seemed just as interested as Lorna had been. 

She did actually need to speak with him, seeing a how he'd been leading a successful town and she wanted him to help with Diamond City's new direction. She considered leaving but her bottle was still mostly full and she wasn't sure she wanted to pay for a room at the Rexford and drink alone. She was trying to think of another place she could sleep when a voice melted against her ears. 

"Didn't expect you back so soon." She jumped and found Hancock mere inches from her side with a smirk on his face. "Come back to make some more bad decisions?" 

Maybe it was some kind of flirting, but she didn't catch it and furrowed her brow; "I haven't made any." 

He chuckled, apparently satisfied by her answer and nodded to the rum. "Try not to get too messed up again." 

She cocked her head, taking another shot. She felt stupid, laughing, "I wasn't even drunk. This shit metabolizes faster than food." 

He seemed put off for a moment and glanced at the nearby patrons. He wasn't as teasing, now, "So why did you leave, then, if you weren't drunk and didn't make a stupid choice?" 

She realized it then. He thought she'd run away to hide or pretend it didn't happen. She gaped for a second before filling the shot glass again. "I had work to do. Actually, I meant to come find you, but you seemed, uh," she found the female ghoul he'd been speaking to, now being chatted up by a guard, " _busy._ I need to talk to you about a settlement. _"_  

There was an odd sobriety in his voice - "Maybe we should talk somewhere else. Come on." He nodded for her to follow him and she swept her rum from the bar, pushing past people to keep up as he disappeared beneath the neon VIP sign. She'd hoped they'd go to his office where she could relax properly after walking all over fucking Boston, but the VIP room was entirely empty and cast in a soft magenta that made her smile. He shut the door behind her as she entered and locked it. 

She twisted and fell onto a couch on the other side of the room and he stepped towards her with a slight swagger, eyes narrowed. 

"So, what's up?" 

Her mind was blank. She could launch herself at him and see if worshiping his flesh would turn him back into the man she'd seen the night before, or she could assert herself as a peer and speak business while she let drunkenness take the reigns. She couldn't help but stare - the way his hat cast shadows over his already-ink-black eyes, how his long coat swept behind his strong calves and seemed to trail confidence and finesse no other human possessed, and how he seemed to rise above her like a fucking historical figure while she was left in the dust of the wastelands. He smirked as he eyes trailed down his throat, remembering the taste of his skin and the rumbling noises she'd elicited. 

"I'm not so sure you weren't drunk, Lorna," he laughed, her name a rarity on his lips. He fell onto the couch beside her, far enough away that she could tell he wasn't inviting her over. "What's up? Why're you running around alone and actin' like you don't know what you're doin'?" 

She threaded her fingers together, staring at the booze set on the ground between her feet. "I can't let anyone scare off my family. They're all I have and I don't even know them." Her voice was oddly distant. "I don't want to make myself your problem anymore, either. You took a lot of time to help me out and I wanna prove it was worth it." She didn't want to look at him and kept speaking, hoping to find the words that would accurately explain to him what she was. "You don't need to be involved anymore. You have a town to run and people to look after and," she cleared her throat as the female ghoul passed through her mind, "more important shit than me. I don't regret what I did with you - honestly, it seems like you would if you weren't so charismatic already." He chuckled and she risked a glance, taking in the veins of his throat at the rise of his cheeks as he grinned. "I'm sorry I caused you so much trouble. I just don't want to be a burden anymore, but I still am." 

He shook his head. "Aw, come on, doll. You know you're just exaggerating, now. People gotta help each other out here. You're no different than any one of us, you just got a different history."

She seemed to ignore his response and continued, "And I don't know how I'm coming off like I'm pretending not to know what I'm doing. I've only got less than a year's worth of knowledge to work off of, but people expect me to know what they're thinking. The Railroad, _apparently,_ thought I could do anything, but I just see it as them wiping their hands of me. I hate it. I hate this. I sometimes wish I could go back to thinking I was someone else just so I'd have a reason to be so unhappy."

Hancock leaned back and stretched his legs out. She'd been rambling and now he had probably grown bored. He wasn't a counselor who existed to talk her through her problems - he was a sexual mayor with honeyed words and a bloody past. She wanted to tear at her hair. "Lorna, look - life goes as it is. You can't look back and hope for answers. Some days, I wish I'd never let myself become a ghoul. Sure, I didn't know it was gonna happen, but I knew something would. Honestly, I thought I'd die, instead. But here I am - fucked up skin and people still listen. It's about what you do, right? Not what you are."

The buzz of alcohol was at its peak and her lips moved before she allowed the thought to complete itself, "And what are we?" 

Hancock was watching her, thinking, but she couldn't bare to look. It felt as though her magazine fell out the moment a gunfight started and she was left vulnerable and idiotic. She wanted to leave or step back in time to redirect herself. She was here to ask for help, not insist she should become the mayor's priority. 

His voice startled her with its smoothness. "Whatever you want us to be, doll." 

She felt that odd heat again and knew her skin had gone red. She hadn't expected the response. He was playing a game with her and now she was responsible for how it turned out. 

She bit her lip and looked at him finally, taken by the lights shining against his eyes and how casually he sat beside her. "I want..." She thought hard, searching for her words, "I want to be _something._ I don't know what it means. I just want to think about you all the time and have you do the same for me. I guess?" She added the questioning words as she realized how assuming it sounded, wanting the man to think of her as though she were something to waste time on. 

He reached out and touched a palm to her cheek. He asked seriously, "You ain't drunk?"

She shook her head and felt a tightness in her throat, assuming he was about to tell her how far-fetched her ideas were and how she should learn to relax. 

Instead, rough fingers met the back of her head and she was pulled forward, just enough to press her lips to his; her mouth seemed to part itself and she felt his tongue press smoothly along her lower lip before running along her own tongue. She felt a surge of adrenaline fill her skull and feet and she wanted _more._

She moved a hand to his knee, squeezing tightly as he held her in place. Lorna was so enticed now, possibly more tipsy than she'd let on, but she could tell something in her brain changed when he touched her. He pulled back just enough to let her feel his speech on her skin - "You feel like takin' a tour of the Mayor's office?" 

She grinned, unable to contain the silly excitement he provoked. He kissed her again when she nodded, softer now, as though he was making sure she'd stay. 

 

He had her down to her underwear by the time the door of the office was shut. Her shirt lay somewhere on the stairwell and her jeans were an annoying stopper in the door jamb. Hancock pressed her to the wall and Lorna was arched against him, pressing her covered breasts to him with need. Usually, he'd stay fully-clothed and move on from a fun night, but Lorna insistently pushed against the shoulders of his coat and yanked his hips against hers by the knotted flag. He grinned against her and dropped what he could while he kept his mouth on hers, savoring the warmth of her breath and the small gasps that escaped her when his erection would brush her. 

She grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him back, a noticeable blush on her lips as she eyes him sans-redcoat. She bit her lip and began pulling open his shirt, exposing irradiated flesh that made her eyes gleam. He had never seen a girl respond so vehemently to a ghoul's flesh, and she had her mouth on him in seconds. His breath held when her tongue pressed to his collarbone and followed a stretch of muscle of his neck, cold air hitting a trail that made his cock twitch. She kissed his throat beneath his jaw and moaned softly, curving her hips into him. 

She moved again, this time to his chest, where she planted kisses and bit delicately at hard flesh, tracing her tongue along the seams of muscles and ghoul flesh. He pushed her back, a desperate sound leaving her as her mouth left him. He chuckled lowly and pushed his thigh between her legs, a gentle throb between her thighs crying out for him. "I'm the one s'posed to be worshiping you, doll." 

She answered quickly, ignoring his words. "Let me taste your cock, John." 

He was more than a bit surprised, honestly, at the demand. Most women weren't fond of sucking a guy off in the wastes, let alone a ghoul. She didn't let him respond, however, as she disappeared from his sight and fell to her knees. She acted like she was starving, nearly ripping his pants open to bare his hardness with an appreciative noise. He had to look down and could hardly handle the sight of her lips near his leaking head, her breath hot as she considered it. Lorna glanced upwards for only a moment before his cock disappeared into her mouth and John arched, a low groan leaving him at the feeling of her wet heat. Her tongue danced along the underside and she swiveled her chin, pulling him deeper before she began bobbing her head. 

His jaw fell open at the feeling of her teeth grazing softly against him, endlessly lavished by an appreciative tongue and the occasional force of suction. She forced herself to take him deeper, seeming to get off on his dick alone. When he felt the back of her throat and the small convulsion of a gag, he moaned roughly and shoved a hand into her hair. Never had he felt so fucking worshiped. 

Her eyes, welled with tears of suppressing her own gag, stared up at him and he couldn't control the movement of his hips as he thrust into her mouth, soft moans vibrating against him so delicately, he already felt close. Before he could, he held her head and pulled back, the head of his erection leaving a trail of saliva from her smiling lips. _God,_ it was like she lived to suck him off.

But it wasn't just some quickie in his office, he had to remind himself. This was _Lorna,_ the girl who'd tried to fight him and ended up saving the fucking world or some shit. He pulled her up by the hair, a whimper of lust escaping her, and he used his grip to bare her throat. He sunk his teeth into the flesh beneath the curve of her jaw and she tilted against him, laughing and moaning in unison. He grinned and thrust against her bare stomach, her own spit lubricating him well enough that he had to stop himself again. 

Lorna slid out from his grip suddenly and undid her bra on the way to the couch. She turned at bit her lip as she pulled her panties over her thighs and dropped them to the floor, a smirk spreading across John's features. He was quick to join her, one hand taking a breast while the other slid between her thighs, a heated wetness already built that let his fingers glide across her clit with ease. Lorna whimpered into his mouth as he kissed her again, loving the softness of her lips against him. Even her tongue seemed softer than his, gently moving against his as he tasted the liquor she'd drunk earlier. He pressed her thighs to the armrest of the couch and forced her back, letting her land on the cushions with her legs propped up. He gave her a wink before settling to his knees and pulling her by the knees, arching her ass onto the armrest. 

Her legs spread easily and John sighed greedily, dancing a finger along the slit of her cunt as she whimpered. 

She was more than wet - she was absolutely _leaking_ for him. It took no effort for his fingers to glide into her, pressing contracted muscles that wavered and tensed against his touch. She whined and it heightened, nearly disappearing, as John leaned in to flick his tongue across her clit. Her thighs tried to shut but he held fast, shoving a shoulder against one with his free hand gripping the other. 

He curled his finger inside her and she cried out, her hips shaking as he began to lavish her clit with twist of his tongue, blood throbbing through her. He felt her insides clench and he wrapped his tongue around the bundle of nerves, tearing whimpers from her as her toes curled. He chuckled, his voice causing tremors through her, and she bucked against him, tightening hard. She was unintelligible as she came, writhing against his hold as he forced the orgasm to lengthen, sucking and licking at her cunt while his fingers dug into sweet spots inside of her. 

Lorna fell limp when he released her and stood between her legs. Her eyes were wide and she stared at the ceiling, the high of her orgasm still disapating. John wasted no time in arching over her, the head of his cock hot against her. She bit her lip and met his eyes, an almost-worried look of lust in her gaze, and he pressed in.

The ring of muscle at her entrance was tighter than he remembered - she cried out again as he stretched her, the angle of her ass pushing him directly into her depths. He was able to fill her immediately, her insides wet and welcoming from her orgasm, and he encouraged her with a thumb at her clit. Lorna winced and arched, her voice breaking from her tension; he felt her throb around his cock as he started moving. 

She only got louder as he pounder into her, slamming against her while she twitched and writhed from the surges of ecstacy rising from her clit. John grinned when she became undone again, her head thrown back to bear her slender throat as she _screamed_ for him. He felt a second orgasm twist her tight around him, her hips contracting as her legs tried to close. He pushed hard, thrusting into the heat aggressively as he felt himself breach the edge. 

John let out a long, ragged moan as he filled her, the feeling of his cum covering her insides making his fingers dig into her flesh. She was still coming down, whimpering and moaning as he finished himself off inside her, his movements uneven and spent. 

They panted together for a long minute, Lorna watching his dark eyes as he gleamed down at her. He pulled out carefully, his cock still sensitive, and sighed heavily, realizing he hadn't been breathing enough. She wriggled back lazily, inviting him to join her, and her arms wrapped around him as soon as he did. She kissed his shoulder, trailing her lips along his bare collarbone and neck with a smile. 

John pulled on hand from his side to kiss her fingers, murmuring against her skin. "I think you should spend a lot more time here, sunshine." 

She laughed breathily against his skin. "I think I know what love is." 

He chuckled. "Love, huh? That's a big promise comin' from a sweet little smoothskin." Before she could take it the wrong way, he added, "You don't need to tie yourself down to a ghoul, sweetheart."

She answered with her lips pressed to the rough flesh of his jaw, "I want to, if you do." 

He couldn't help but smile, kissing her knuckles that still shown with scars. "Any day, doll." 


End file.
